Special Pets
by BrownEyedDevil
Summary: Victor likes to keep some special pets in his basement to play with. Looks like this one will live longer than the others. I'm having trouble categorizing this  :P It's a longer one. No damsels, no rape. No fluff. Come on. Saberfluff?
1. Chapter 1

_**This is my first official Vicfic. Or as my dear kidnapping accomplice likes to say, Grumpyfic. She probably has a few more descriptive words up her sleeve but that is not the point.**_

_**The point is that Victor Creed is one very fascinating character, from a writer's perspective. And Liev Schreiber happens to be a very talented and very delicious man, from a girl's perspective. But I'm rambling again.**_

_**This is actually "old". I posted this on lievschreiberforum. com in June. So it's a little longer already, hintedy hint. You need to sign up to be able to read it all, but there are more great stories waiting and you get some awesome people to chat with on top, pictures, movie infos, all that! Come on, I know you want to :p**_

Credits/Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own Victor Creed or any of the X-Men. The for now nameless girl is my creation though. This was inspired by the amazing Otep's song "Special Pets". I took some liberties with the interpretation.  
Please be advised that this will be dark. No fluffy romance here, I'm sorry. There's some torture involved, violence-a cat likes to play with it's prey sometimes. That's nature for ya. There's also foul language. That's me for ya.

_Victor Creed wasn't a man that craved the company of anyone, nobody would argue that. In fact, the only thing most people would contest was the question of whether he was a man or not. More often than not he was an animal. He was Sabertooth. The way most other feral mutants referred to their animalistic side with their code names could not really be applied to him though. The fine line between man and beast had long been blurred, fused. His last anchor to humanity had abandoned him well over a decade ago and slowly but surely the last thread holding his inner monster at bay at least somewhat had rippled and finally it gave way. He had given up on taking care of his outer appearance the way a human would, he had forfeited any luxury mankind was so attached to and took to survival in the wild instead. Travelling with nothing but the clothes on his back, sleeping wherever he saw fit, hunting his food and other prey whenever he felt like it. The odd job from time to time had completed the picture and added some spice to it. He hadn't cared about the money, had it wired to a few accounts he had set up a long while ago.__  
__Sabertooth did not need money.___

_That did change somewhat the day he fought his brother on Liberty Island. The animal inside him had remembered only the scent and an incredible fury had been linked to it. The fact that the other had defeated him and thrown him off the Statue of Liberty had not helped matters much. After he had crawled out of the water, barely conscious and alive, water in his lungs that he would cough out painfully over the course of two days, he had spent a few days struggling with his healing, hidden under a bridge. And for the first time, in order to survive the pain, the animal had let the human out of the confinement he had retreated to so many years ago. His human side, instead of taming the beast, was full of anger, mistrust and an undiluted hate for everything alive itself. So the beast and the human shared the body, became one single mind.___

_Making Victor Creed more vicious and dangerous than he had ever been.___

_Slowly but surely some memories came back of the time before, in a blur but still there. He had had a brother once, a mutant too. But he despised him for everything he stood for, for trying to fight his feral side, for being so fucking noble. The animal was part of him, why fight it. He just didn't see why he should do that.___

_At some point he had started to listen to his instincts and begun to hunt people. The exhilaration he first felt when stalking his prey had soon worn thin and so he had to up the ante, like a junkie would have to take more and more of his drug. Only that his addiction wasn't lethal, at least not for himself. He started to catch people and play with them a bit, soon realizing a niche in the market. There were many guys that one could hire to eliminate unwanted people, some skilled, some not so much. But there were few one could go to if one wanted them not only removed but wanted them to suffer as much as possible. And there certainly wasn't anyone as skilled as Victor Creed. But even though he viewed his newfound profession as an inspiration of sorts, at least when it came to his victims, it was not enough to satisfy his hunger. He liked to play with his prey, watch them squirm, hear them beg for mercy only he knew wasn't coming. And even with the persons he was paid to torture time was limited, sooner or later he would have to leave them wherever it was they were supposed to be found. He didn't solve that problem until he purchased a house in the late nineties.___

_Victor Creed's real estate portfolio was quite impressive, he owned apartments and houses all across North America, some in Mexico and even a few in Europe. He had bought places here and there, whenever he stayed in a place longer than a few weeks, preferring his own four walls over hotels that always held the smell of too many people.___

_This one wasn't his typical lair, he usually liked to hide in plain sight, in the middle of larger cities, in neighbourhoods where people knew better than to ask questions. This house was in the outskirts of a fairly large city, the property was large enough that neighbours couldn't be too nosy but not large enough to raise suspicions as to why a guy like him could afford it. He purchased a nondescript car to go with it and, for the first time since he could remember, made sure not to flaunt his mutation. He wore gloves when leaving the house and until he was at least ten minutes away, and he made sure to greet the neighbours but never let them strike up any kind of conversation, not allowing them to come close enough to see his fangs. He knew they all thought of him as a friendly enough guy who was a loner, hard working because he was gone so often, but overall a good guy._

With a deep chuckle, after all that's what people always say about their neighbour the serial killer, he stretches and walks into the kitchen to get another beer. He enjoys his time off without any dipshits calling and whining. His cell phone is out in the car, turned off and will not be turned on until he feels like it. Which can be anywhere between a few hours and about a week, depending on how long his new pet will make it.

The rooms are nondescript and filled with furniture that is purely functional, exactly the way he wants it. There are three bedrooms, but only two are furnished, the largest is almost filled with a huge bed. He doesn't even know why there is another bed in the second room, as if he'd ever get visitors. At least not the kind that would stay in that sort of guest room.

He walks across the kitchen towards the basement room. The very annoying real estate agent had called it the hobby room and Victor has kept that description. Though his hobby room is equipped with state of the art soundproofing, heavy steel doors, three cells, several restraints and a few interesting instruments he has picked up over the years. He glances at the clock, it is almost time to visit his latest pet, but before he can allow himself some playtime there is urgent business to take care of. The middle cell still holds the remains of the old pet, a real letdown. She hadn't been as interesting as he had hoped, but the gothic type rarely were. They liked to talk a lot about how they hated the world and wanted to die, some even liked to pretend that they liked bondage and a little pain to get them going.

Victor had long ago found out that even the most suicidal, the most perverted did not appreciate his ideas of playtime.

The latest little bitch he had picked up on her own free will outside a club hadn't lasted the first 48 hours. His new pet looked like quite a catch, at least the hunt had been promising. She had been running for him and he'd let her for ten minutes, and she hadn't stopped screaming.

He grinned. This could be a very interesting week.

-  
No description of pain I ever read in a book could describe the way I feel right now. My whole body hurts, the muscles are sore from the running I did – and I never ran as fast as I did when I realized that the guy walking behind me was following me.

Not true. I started running when I realized that the man following me was a huge mutant leering at me and closing the distance between us.

The fact that he so effortlessly pounced on me, there is no better way to describe it, after all that running is disheartening. And I always thought I was pretty fit. Ha.  
He jumped on my back, knocked me to the ground and boy was he heavy. That was the first thought running through my head, quickly followed by "I broke a few ribs". I actually think that was my last conscious thought before he knocked me out.

And now I am in some sort of twisted underground… dungeon. I have no idea where I am but I assume I am underground because there is no window. Kidnapping a girl just to have her wave to the neighbours would be pointless. It looks squeaky clean, the walls are coated half way up with some sort of metal plates, probably stainless steel, the rest is tiled, just like the floor. A very cheerful grey. There is a drain in the middle of the room and the floor is slightly tilted towards it. Practical.

I shudder. Something tells me that I am not the first occupant of this room.

And I have a vague idea of what has happened in here before.  
Sick bastard.

After a few moments of lying still and surveying my surroundings, I try to move. And find myself tied to the cot I am on apparently. Why he put me on here and not the cold tiles I don't know, maybe he doesn't want me to die of pneumonia but of himself. Because I have no illusions about his intentions. He sure didn't kidnap me and lock me up in here because he wants to go on a date or maybe thinks I could give some useful hints about decorating.

I do have some kidnapping experience. The first time I was abducted when I was eight years old, a nice old lady tended to me and I was locked up in a small shed on a farm. It wasn't all that bad, I got more attention from her than I ever did at home. Once more at sixteen and boy were those idiots unprepared. I got away after three days. A few more attempts until now, I am almost twenty-four. I see a pattern in this, but anyway. My father is a big asshole, but a big asshole with contacts. If he doesn't get what he wants he gets the close ones of those that didn't give it to him, hence his overflowing bank accounts and army of dumb big guys following him around everywhere. So of course people thought they could get to him by kidnapping his daughter. Poor fools ended up being locked up and tortured probably, I never got around to ask my dear daddy, we haven't been on speaking terms since… I can't even remember. He has never been around much and apparently I look too much like my mother so he doesn't really like me much anyway. I think the last time we spend more than a few minutes in the same room was when I showed up back home after the second kidnapping. He sort of lost interest in me.

Anyway. I have been locked up and scared before, so this is more than just a déjà-vu. It's like high school reunion. You don't really want to go, you dread it but it is over sooner than you think and though it might be painful, you'll live.  
Something about those restraints tells me otherwise, but I will ignore that for now. It smells like disinfectant, a horrible hospital smell I can not stand.

The door opens, not that I heard anything, even though it looks pretty heavy, but I caught the movement from the corner of my eyes. He walks in and seeing him barely fit through the door frame makes me realize just how tall he really is. He is wearing a wifebeater and those ugly green cargo pants that I have always hated. I own four pairs of them myself. And before I can think about why an article of clothing is called wifebeater he is towering over me, his head tilted to the side as if he is looking at a mildly interesting piece of art. No, not art. Bubble gum on the floor. That's it. The hardness in his eyes makes me shudder and I try to move away from his clawed hands I just noticed, though I know it is pointless, I am tied down after all.

Something tells me that this is not the regular kidnapper that just wants to scare my dear father.

And as if he wants to confirm my assumption he raises one large hand and lets me see how his long nails extend, like talons from a cat's paw. He smiles and slowly lowers his pa.. hand, index finger stretched out. Until I feel it on my skin, right over my breasts on my sternum. The claw feels warm and dry and even though it rests lightly against my skin I feel how sharp it is, it could easily break my skin, just with a little bit of pressure.

Without warning he presses down, cutting through until I can feel the claw scrape my bone as he slides his hand down. His head is still cocked to the side and his eyes are sparkling. Biting back the scream that wants to escape my throat I just pray that he will kill me soon. But he looks like he enjoys this too much to make it quick.

Both his hands rake down my sides, cutting me and I can't hold back any longer. I scream, using all the profanities I can think of. And all he does is laugh.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you to JPG&R and Comic-cake for the reviews! I am glad that you as Rogan-faithfuls are taking this journey into the creepy country of Creed with me^^ You know that reviews keep us writers breathing, so thanks to the 98 others for wanting me dead :P**

**Well, Rave Suspense added this to her favorites and jackmansgrrl and joemarnc have it on alert so thanks to you guys too, you only want me to pass out a little :P**

**Without further ado, here's chapter two.**

**Practicing my poetry skills already, there is a rather large…project coming up. Huge, so to speak. Anyway. We will learn a little more about our female protagonist and there will be more language and all that. You have been warned. Again.**

At some point I must have passed out, which would explain why I am waking up yet again. This time I don't waste any time on my wonderfully grey surroundings but concentrate on my body. And I thought it hurt the last time I woke up. Carefully shifting I realize that the restraints are gone and sit up immediately.

Whoa, should have taken it a little slower. I sway from side to side while the room spins around me and my muscles tighten. Seems like he has left me alone while I passed out, thank goodness. He probably can't get off if the chick doesn't scream and beg for mercy that sick fuck. He has left red marks all over my body but nothing is as deep as the cut right between my breasts. I will not waste any time on thinking about infection, I think dying of an infected cut by those dirty old claws should be my least worry. My stomach tightens, I haven't had anything to eat in… however long I have been here plus about a day. Neither have I had my medication, but again, I will die anyway.

Big guy isn't in the room, I knew that as soon as I woke up. He has the presence of a black hole, as if he sucks in everything, thus directing all attention towards him. And the has the air of a guy who knows and doesn't care. One more reason to despise him. The fact that he's a mutant doesn't do anything to tip the scale either way. My father has a very low opinion of them but doesn't hate them enough to not let them do his dirty work. Even the man who protected first my mom and after her disappearance has looked after me is a mutant. I remember sitting on the floor playing while my dad stalked around the room, ranting about mutants and humans, trying to instil valuable life lessons in his little daughter. "If you're only associated with muties the world will hate you." and a lot more down a path I didn't even like back then.

As I got older I started to talk back, asking him if mutants poisoned the water and stole children, too. He got angry. When I told him that he sounded suspiciously like that guy we learned about in history class and that he was only one step away from wanting to build camps for them he slapped me. It was the first and only time that he raised his hand against me. Understandably if you knew our family history, rather, his family history. Jewish immigrants and Auschwitz survivors. It was also the only display of emotion towards me. And it was the day that I realized something. My mom, who had disappeared shortly after my first Birthday, might have been a mutant.

There's a sound at the door and I get off the… it's not a bed. A bed does imply some sort of comfort. And a mattress. This is just a metal plate screwed to the wall. Meant to hold a mattress. There is none though. I get up and back up against the far wall, not that it helps. The room is small and will soon be filled by my huge kidnapper. I wish I had some sort of weapon, not that I am dumb enough to think that it would help much. I just want to hurt him back a little.

He leans against the door frame, eyeing me with those unsettling eyes of his. At first I could have sworn they were piercing and bright, either green or blue, excuse me for not paying attention, I was naked and he was clawing at me. The thing is, during that his eyes went almost completely black. Not that I am close enough to really see them right now, but they sure ain't black.

"Are you done staring or are your brain cells just trying to remember how to walk over here and cut me to shreds."

I just can't help it. I have worked out the fact that I will not get out of here alive, so why hold back. Nothing to lose except my life and that… I don't have a life anymore. He has it now and he'll decide when it ends. Kind of liberating, knowing that. Of course it would be nicer if it wasn't this guy, but it's not like I have a choice.

"Your smell is nauseating. Time to clean you up."

Without further ado he pulls in a...hose?

He turns a small metallic valve at the tip and before I can call him an asshole I am pummelled by a very hard spray of water. Ice cold water. My skin was burning from the cuts before, now it is on fire. It feels like they are opening up again-with the force of the water I wouldn't be surprised if they really did. And as suddenly as he pulled out the hose, he puts it away again. The door shuts behind him and I eye the bottle that almost vanishes in his hand suspiciously. Why would he disinfect the cuts if he wants me to die anyway? He arrives in my corner and I can't even try to get past him. I still try though.

Shouldn't have done that, I find myself pinned against the wall, feet dangling up in the air and his huge hand at my throat. His claws dig into the skin of my neck and the left corner of his mouth is tugged up in a lopsided grin.

"You better try and be nice. Or this is going to be a lot more unpleasant than you think."

He stares at me intently for a few moments, probably for good measure, to get his point across. Then his hand is gone and I find myself dropping to the floor. Great. But a few bruises won't make much difference. I realize that he is waiting for me to get up and sit down on the bed thing so I better hurry. He isn't exactly the patient type.

"Atta girl."

Never knew there were other people that could make words drip with that much sarcasm.

He opens the bottle and pours the liquid over my chest. I hiss and he chuckles. Didn't I say he gets off on other people's pain? This is getting really annoying so I pull myself together and to take my mind off the pain, try to smooth back my hair. I have never been fond of it, it is a sandy colour, my eyes are so light brown they are almost yellow and my skin has the same tone whether I hide in the basement or stay out in the sun all day. Basically, I have the same colour from head to toe. If I had at least inherited my dad's hair. He has curls to die for, a real mane. But no. Straight like spaghetti. A little wavy sometimes, at best.

Apparently my diversion has worked too well, because he roughly grabs my chin and tilts my head upward, forcing me to look at him. I hate his guts. And the god damn forest of fur on his chest. There's a lot of room there. My neck hurts already, but his hand holds up my chin firmly.

"I asked you a question and you better answer, frail."

Is he snarling?  
Charming.

"Didn't hear you."

The claws dig into my skin, I will have some very impressive marks around my chin.

"Asked about your family. Better pay attention."

"What, you wanna cut them up too? Be my guest. My father is Ari Tatz."

His eyes widen just the slightest bit, telling me two things. He has heard about my father. Of course he has. A shady person like him has probably killed a few people for him. Or killed someone who has killed someone for my father. Always works like that.

And he had no idea who I was. So in spite of my experience with kidnappings, this is a new page to my damsel in distress portfolio. For the first time I have not been abducted to piss off my father. Not sure if it's a good or a bad thing though.

"So you are the little brat. Last thing I heard was he was looking for someone to off a few guys who supplied you with heroin."

I wonder if there is an underground news bulletin or something. Or if my dad goes around complaining about me. Probably his goons gossiping. It is not a big secret that I did everything I could to spite dear daddy. He makes a living out of fear and bribery so he is not exactly one to talk about moral standards. It started out with purple hair and wild clothes when I was sixteen, that morphed into tattoos, piercings and sleeping with every rock musician I could get my hands on when I was eighteen and ended with drug addiction at the age of twenty.

"Seems like you're not up to the latest underworld gossip. That was four years ago."

His claws scratch down my throat and I hold my breath.

"Don't tell me you stopped causing trouble. I'm sure you came up with something interesting."

I hate the tone of his voice, so casual, as if we had just met in some fucking bar and he's trying to be friendly.

"After they found me half dead in an abandoned house used for little drug orgies I have successfully averted only two half assed kidnapping attempts. Life has been good Mister… Whiskers."

"Poor girl. Everyone's out to get ya. Well, fear no more. I can assure you that nobody will go after you when I'm done with you."

"Very reassuring."

He leaves the room to return with a bowl. It's an actual bowl, like you would give your dog. Great. The stuff in it looks like dog food too, but smells better. Hamburger Helper, I'm sure.

"Dig in. Wouldn't want you to starve, would we."

"Fuck you."

He chuckles and starts to walk back out, but pauses in the doorway.

"Want me to send your daddy a little note that you're alright? Maybe add a little personal touch, a finger? An ear?"

"Don't think he cares. I haven't seen him in years."

Aside from the money arriving in my account every month and my bodyguard still lingering about, my father might as well be dead. Speaking of… I hope Rick's doing alright. He was taking the night off when I decided to walk the three blocks to the library to get a few new books. Lesson learned, reading is dangerous.

"Poor little Ariel."

I frown.

"That's not my name."

It is, but it's my middle name my father picked. Ari, Ariel, what a stretch. I like my other name better, not just because my mom picked it. In ancient Semitic folklore it was a night demon, it has been a dark figure in a few mythologies, always bringing disease and death. My mom picked it because of the oldest story-it was said to be Adam's first wife who got kicked out for talking back to him. I do think names influence our personalities. This guy here sure thinks he's Adam. No, he probably fancies himself in a higher position.

"Of course it is. But if you insist: Lilith. Well, at least this explains why you are so... jaded."

He chuckles again. Oh I wish I could kick his teeth in. From the looks of it, even I could kick that high, I'd shatter every single bone in my foot. Nobody calls me Lilith, except for my father and Rick. Everyone else calls me Lily, but I consider those people my friends. So this asshole can call me all he wants. Sticks and stones, sticks and stones.

"Yeah well, out of all the emotionally crippling experiences in my life, you stand an excellent chance to take the cake. Proud?"

He has already walked out and shut the door but I hear him roaring with laughter as he walks away.


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you, reviewers!

Thank you **desy**, the soon didn't work out too well, work got in the way, but here is more and I am glad that you enjoy my Victor so far^^

**Comic-cake**, as usual I like reading your reviews. I do like the character myself, though I have no idea where she came from and what she's up to^^ And I hate to admit it, but keeping humor out of a story completely would feel like an amputation to me.

And my dear accomplice,** JohnNuts** :P Your rambling had me cry with gratitude. You know how I love rambling. Long-windedness is wonderful and if I don't receive your package today I will have to pounce. Let my nails grow on purpose, too :D Now I imagine a dinner party where Lily shows up. Butt naked and ranting to herself. What a great night it would be. Still haven't told anyone about you turning to the Leave, you know. Your secret is safe with me.

Thanks again to the lovely ladies at lievschreiberforum dot com where you can find this story with a few additional chapters already posted, along with other great stories, pictures, videos, you name it, we got it.

Now feel free to pounce this chapter and attack it with a review, it will be appreciated and rewarded with a mention in the next instalment and quite possibly I will refrain from stalking you. Maybe I will send a tall and handsome, yet scary but oh so delicious feral to do that. Your choice, really.

* * *

I spent quite a while trying to occupy myself. You know, the stuff you do when you are locked up in a room you can't escape from. Talk to yourself in your head about this and that, try to recount your favourite movies as detailed as possible, same with songs. I even tried to come up with a few stories myself. That was so boring that I fell asleep again.

And now I am awake, feeling a certain urge. The fun thing about this cell is: That asshole saved money by leaving out a toilet but he invested that money in cameras. So not only do I have to take a piss in the middle of the room by the drain. He can also watch me doing it. I will get to the problem of other bodily functions once it gets urgent. For now I do what I have to do, using all the beautiful profanities I know, just in case he has microphones installed too.

This guy is seriously twisted. So he gets off on trapping girls in here, hurting them and quite possibly, watching them take a shit.

One thing is weird though. He hasn't raped me. Yet.  
Don't get me wrong, it's not like I'd beg him to, but why would he go through all this trouble if not for the convenience of having a victim close by in case of emergency? We have already established that he hasn't kidnapped me because of my pedigree. So if not for money, what for?

I am not exactly repulsive, that can't be it either. How sick am I that I feel self conscious about this giant son of a Woman not raping me. But it's true. A girl needs all kind of reassurance, as twisted as it may be. It makes me sick that I have to give in and admit that I am not above such horrible thought patterns. But being in here all by myself is therapeutic, in a way. There is only so much you can do in a small cell like this. Take four large strides from the back wall to the door. Or six from side to side. Count the 59 tiles on the floor-the drain in the middle does not count, though it has the same size. You know, stuff one does when bored. Sooner or later you have to think about things.

And I figured he was the kind of guy who can't keep his pants zipped, whether the girl likes it or not. Weird. Unless he is gay but I highly doubt that the way testosterone fills up the room to a suffocating degree. And my gaydar usually works really well, it stays quiet when he's around. It's actually hiding somewhere and cries, but anyway.

So I sure won't ask him whenever he feels like coming in again: "Hey, big guy, why haven't you raped me yet? Is it because I'm ugly?" I'm not. But you know how girls are supposed to sound, all whiny and clingy and all. Not that I should get clingy with a guy that kidnapped me and eats half a grade school for breakfast.

I hear the lock on the door, sounds like there is a large bolt across it-haven't heard that before, quite possibly because I had been passed out. My stomach cramps up and I'm not sure why exactly-because I am hungry, angry and scared and I need my medication. See, I have some sort of condition I know next to nothing about, I have been taking a pill a day every day since I was little. Except for the kidnappings, of course, but they were all over soon enough. And when I was living in that drug house… Well. I think the fact that I almost killed myself with drugs weighed a little more than some pill. Rick has been playing mother hen and made sure I always took it but he always changed the subject when I tried to ask questions. All I know is that when I skipped them for a few days I started to get bad headaches, felt dizzy and got really sensitive to smell, sounds and touch. It was horrible, so I went back to taking them without asking what they were for.

I feel the greasy Hamburger Helper making its way up my throat and as the door opens I bend over and let it all out. It smells terrible and I squeeze my eyes shut because I'm sure it doesn't look any better either.

"What a way to greet your host."

I can hear him grin. Oh I should have waited until he was close enough so I could have hurled all over his fucking shirt. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, it's not like I have anything to wipe it with, not even clothes, I glare at him.

"Chalk that up to your magnificent cooking skills."

He backhands me and I fall back against the wall, hearing a sickening crunch as my head collides with the stone. Well, that sure was unexpected.

"Be glad that I feed you at all."

Oh now I am supposed to be grateful? For the cuts, the locking me up, the lack of clothes and anything else that would keep me warm? The cold leftover fastfood?

"Well, I have vomited better food. This actually tasted better on its way up."

Kill me already. There's a vein on his forehead that looks like it's about to explode. Then he smiles.

"You really are stupid. But I won't do you any favors. Now get up and let me see your wounds, wouldn't want you to get an infection."

There is one thing about him that has me in awe. The sarcasm that drips from every word, that is something not everyone can do with seemingly no effort. I find myself listen to him and get up, waiting for him to come closer. He is actually carrying a first aid kit, wow.

With an air of concentration he turns me around and inspects the cuts on my sides, turns me again a little rougher and frowns. What is it now? He had to bend down quite a bit to see, now he straightens up and looks at the cut between my breasts. I resist the urge to cover the girls, he has seen them so there's no need to hide them now. He pinches my skin between his fingertips and I turn away with a hiss. Of course that makes him grin.

"You healed up nicely pet. I don't think I need to disinfect anything."

How did he just call me?

He inhales deeply and shakes his head.

"No, no infections."

That sniffing is creepy. Well, creepier than the guy himself. His eyes, are they grey? They are unsettling. Even more than the fangs and claws. I could deal with those, but the eyes… They are cold.

"What did you just call me?"

His grip around my hip tightens and his claws dig into my skin, just a bit. But enough to sting. He grabs the first aid kit and looks down on me.

"Well, that is exactly what you are, pet."

He swats my ass and walks out again. That wasn't necessary now, was it. And what the fuck. I am his PET? I am not a lapdog! The thought of me sitting on his lap while he feeds me treats whenever he likes is sickening. Well, I think I have to prove that I am not really pet material.


	4. Chapter 4

**I apologize for this lateness. Don't know what happened there, aside from life but that is not really an excuse. There is a stash of chapters already, after all.**

**Thank you again Comic-cake, there will be a lot more feral upwinding in the next chapters, look forward to that. **

**Seph, I am not the queen of evil cliffhangers for nothing :P**

And JohnPaulGeorgeandRingo your rambling reviews always make me cry into my fuzzy blanket. Thank you for those thoughts on John's Nuts. You can Liev your lights out though. Maybe a feral or two would like to come for a visit. I'm sure they'll find their way in the dark^^

**As usual, this contains language, mind fucks and brain matter. Read with caution.**

**Tuna pizza and beer for every reviewer!**

I think he has left me alone for quite a while, at least judging by the way my stomach hurts. And I don't mean the little hunger pangs you get on a stressful day when you realize you haven't had a bite since breakfast. I am talking about real stomach pains, the kind that have you double over while your insides devour themselves.

Whatever that guy is into, it is some seriously sick shit.

My nails have grown quite a bit, I know that because I polished them before stupid me went out and there is quite a bit of nail showing. I have also started to see things. Imagination sure is a fun thing. A little while ago I started to imagine splatters of blood everywhere. If Dexter was here he could tell me where exactly the chick before me was when big guy snuffed her out. I don't need any hints to the weapon. It is over 6 foot tall, kinda hairy, clawed and quite possibly crazy.

And now my mind is playing tricks on me again. I smell pizza. Delicious, greasy pizza. With salami. And green bell peppers. Black olives. I'd kill for an olive right now. Hell, even a stalk of celery. Cauliflower. Freaking sushi. And I hate fish.

Anyway. There is no way I can smell pizza down here…

Then I hear footsteps. Heavy boots, heavy guy, chances are that it is my wonderful keeper. And a few moments later, I hear the bolt across the door slide back and the door opens.

"Holy shit you stink!"

"Why thank you mister, it is just that whatever smartass thought up this prison forgot to include stuff like a shower. Or even a sink. And a fucking TOILET."

With two strides he is towering over me, eyes mere slits. My mind plays tricks on me again or does he smell kind of coppery, sweet? Just my imagination probably. Either that or he just killed someone. Well, at least injured.

"You know, usually the inhabitants don't live long enough to need a god damn toilet." He growls. And smirks at the same time. How does he do that?

"Is that why you haven't fed me in a while? Because I doubt you want to clean that drain when it's all clogged up with shit."

_Victor had never been one to plan out what he'd do to his pets. He picked them randomly and then decided spontaneously what to do with them. To them. Mostly, of course, based on their behaviour. And he had to admit that this one had proven to be rather interesting and much closer to the original purpose of the ordeal-a diversion from all the shit he went through every day, a nice little thing to play with at home._

First of all she was the daughter of one of his former employers who still owed him. That was a nice added bonus on top of things. She definitely wasn't as scared of him as most people. He could smell fear underneath, she would be pretty stupid if she wasn't afraid of him and what he was capable of at all. But what intrigued him was the fact that she was mostly angry at him. And she talked back, no matter what the consequences were.  
  
_Then there was the fact that she had healed rather quick after the first day. He hadn't touched her since then on purpose, he had wanted to see how quick she really healed up. It wasn't fast enough to hint at a mutation-and he definitely would have smelled that-but it was faster than the average human would heal.  
_  
_He had spent the past three days hunting down an idiot who though he could take advantage of Victor Creed's services and didn't need to pay for them. So he had ended up paying a lot more than he had to originally. And while Victor was busy torturing the young wife in front of her newlywed husband on their honeymoon he had been thinking about what to do with this new pet of his. Usually they didn't last longer than a few days. This one had been in her cell for nine days now. And he would have to leave for a job overseas in a few days and he didn't expect to be back any time soon. If he hurried, he could be back within ten days and that would mean he'd have to rush through his assignment and the three assassinations he had been looking forward to because it involved quite a bit of creative torture. He would also need some sort of pet sitter since he highly doubted that she would make another ten days without food or water. Victor hadn't fed her regularly so far and it started to show already. He snorted, but eyeing the defiant glare she shot at him even though he was towering over her, claws dangerously close to her face, he made a decision_.

_First of all, he needed more information on her background. He knew both of her parents, and apparently he knew more about them than most people did. Her father had paid him a very nice sum to get rid of a few people when his pet was just a cub. Apparently, they had known too much. Victor had made sure to get that knowledge before he cut off their heads to present to his client. But he wanted to know more, wanted every last bit of information that could be useful._

And then he needed to find someone he trusted enough to feed her every other day. Without setting one foot into her cell or worse, touch her in any way.

That wasn't exactly easy, the list of people Victor trusted wasn't exactly long. In fact, there was no such list and there would never be. For now all he could do was some basic grooming because she smelled horrible.  


I have no idea what just went down in that giant head of his but he was leaning over me and growled while staring at the wall behind me. It lasted for about half a minute or so, but it was bad enough. Actually, I liked him that way because spaced out he can't do anything too bad.  
Or so I thought.

With a primal grunt he grabs my hair and drags me towards the door. I so do not like where this is going. Where we are going. Through the door and down a dark corridor that smells like disinfectant, too. But I also smell something nauseatingly sweet. I bump into the wall.

"Hey asshole, I got legs, I can walk!"

Did he just snort?

And then realization hits me. I know what this smell is before we pass another door, it is slightly ajar and I realize that it is another cell. We have passed one of these doors already, so there are at least three cells down here. I see grey tiles with dark brown smudges. Lots and lots of smudges. There is something grey dangling from the ceiling and it takes a few moments before I realize it probably used to be a brain. Then I see a clot of long black hair by the drain and before I can gag we have passed the door.

Not that I have had any illusions about this guy before, but seeing it is a lot different from suspecting something.

We, he that is, I am still half lying on the floor and thank goodness for my wonderfully strong hair roots because otherwise I'd have a humongous bald patch on my head by now. Well, he has stopped in front of a door, opens it with some sort of key and roughly shoves me inside.

Well, fuck me.

How glad am I that I didn't say that out loud. We are inside a pretty nice bathroom. Very functional, but still. Damn nice. Vichy shower with four gigantic shower heads, two from the ceiling and two from the sides, clearly built for a pretty large man. So a fairly average sized girl like me would be lost in there. He shoves me again and I almost slip on the floor. Talk about squeaky clean.

"You better get in before I make up my mind." he growls and I obey, for once without a word because this is definitely better than the hose down he gave me the other day. Would it be too much to ask for soap? I'd love to have some decent shampoo and a razor, but this guy definitely doesn't look like the metrosexual type so I better shut up and take what I can get.

I get into the shower which really is large enough for a little party. A glass panel separates it from the rest of the room and I am painfully aware of his eyes on me. I have been naked the entire time but somehow being in the shower makes it worse. Lifting both arms to brush back my admittedly really disgusting hair I try to ignore the fact that he has come closer. Pretty damn close, actually. He is right behind me and I can feel his breath on my skin. There is that pizza smell again and my stomach reacts promptly with a loud growl. Hehe, almost sounded like him.

Surprisingly gentle he puts his hand on my shoulder and turns me around, looking for whatever just came to his mind. His eyes linger at the pink scar between my breasts for a moment and for a moment he looks like an artist studying his canvas. Then his eyes wander over to my armpit and dart from there on downward. Oh well, here we go.

As I close my eyes and prepare for the worst I hear him chuckle. That bastard.

"I will go get something, don't try anything cute, alright."

And with that, big guy leaves the room, closes the door behind him and gone he is. Well, what am I supposed to do. I guess turning on the shower is a big no-no, so I sit down instead, lean my head against the cold wall, I guess it really is marble, white marble too, and close my eyes. Whatever big guy is up to, I hope he will go and get me a bar of soap. Because being outside of my stinking cell I realize that I smell pretty damn ripe.

I absolutely refuse to get nervous. Whatever it is he's up to, I will not be nervous about it.


	5. Chapter 5

_Hell-o everybody. You can go ahead and write nice, long thank you letters to my personal favorite people on this planet. JohnPaulGeorgeandRingo and Chaotic Jinx. I wasn't going to update any time soon because honestly, seeing all the alerts and the visits the chapters get and not receiving any reviews can do bad things to your motivation. Not that I have to write the chapters, they are already done, but it takes an awful lot of motivation to write an A/N and ramble and upload and post, you know. It's mean but hey. Everybody who writes stories knows that "Happiness is a warm gun" is complete bullshit. Happiness is a nice review!_

_So._

_**Chaotic Jinx.**_

_I have a very long shit list and a very short list of awesome people and you are on that one now :P I always love to hear what people think is going to happen, so why don't you enlighten me after I enlighten you with this new chapter? ;) _

_JPG&R_

_Your review made my eyes water. Partially because I was so happy, the rest was my tired eyes trying to drown themselves. Boy, did you ramble! I will always Live out rare steak and beer just in case a feral should come pouncin' by, Victor is sick and that's the way the cookie crumbles, you know you love him for it :P, and I absolutely love the way you decorated the gutter. After all we should get comfy in there, it is where we spend most of our days. Leave can utter those words to me any time he wants, but such words will not come from Victor in his story because X1 either didn't happen in terms of Sabertooth OR it was like in the comic books where Wolverine usually fought against Sabertooth clones and not the real deal. This was just an impostor trying to get some action by using that name._

_I do not own Victor. Which is a damn shame I tell you .I do own a rabbit named Victor but it is not the same I tell you. He keeps bugging the shit out of Logan too. They fight over bananas, they really do. Victor doesn't even like them but tis just how he rolls._

_I did come up with the OC and the other characters floating about right now. This contains bad language and gore and razors. Be advised._

_Reviewers will get tuna pizza and beer! Maybe even a chocolate covered feral if I feel generous._

After a few moments the door opens again and in comes the giant. Again his large hand almost completely covers whatever he is holding and to be honest, unless it is conditioner I don't want to know.

"Get up, pet."

Growling at him, which makes him laugh, I get up and to my complete horror, he takes off his shirt. Okay, not that the sight is terrible, I spy some nice muscles and all, but he as a person is just too scary. He turns a few of the many dials and valves on the wall and I find myself soaking wet within a fragment of a second.

Though I have to say that, compared to a hose, this is absolutely pleasant. Could be a little less hot, but it is a shower.

His hand lands on my shoulder and my breath hitches. I knew this was coming sooner or later, but does it have to be after the first time in all these days that I feel like a human being again?

"Don't get your panties in a bunch."

"I can't. I don't have any."

His hands go up to my head and I smell soap. Generic soap, but still. Soap. His hands are surprisingly gentle as he shampoos my hair, he uses mostly his fingertips and from time to time a claw gently scratches my scalp. Yep, if it wasn't him behind me, I'd definitely enjoy this.

When his hands leave my head I barely bite back a disgruntled moan and I hear him chuckle behind me. I jerk away though when his hands reappear on my body and roam everywhere. The soap on them is the lamest excuse to feel me up, really. But I have to admit that he doesn't take extra time to knead my breasts or anything, he's really behaving like someone washing a kid. In a perfectly normal, innocent way.

Somehow I doubt that he is that innocent though.

Before I could really enjoy myself he turns the water off again and I grumble.

"Turn around and hands up."

"This sounds like some really bad porn."

"The way you look I'd say bad seventies porn."

What the…oh. Guys who lock girls up shouldn't be allowed to comment on their hairiness. He grabs my shoulder again and turns me around.

"Ouch, watch those claws you asshole!"

"Shut the fuck up and what did I tell you? Up with those arms!"

He produces something from the pocket of his pants and my eyes widen.

"Oh no! No! No way! You don't go near me with a razor you sick fuck you!"

He chuckles again. How can he find that amusing? I look down and thankfully, there aren't any Amish around to raise barns. But who knows. Idiot like him might be blessed with two inches when erect. Would serve him right!

"Now hold still pet or I am afraid I will cut you."

He grins. Yeah, sure he does. As if he wouldn't enjoy that, I mean look at my poor body! Actually, the scars aren't very visible, a slight pink and I am glad to report that even the deep one won't leave behind any marks.

Again he is surprisingly careful and I almost don't mind it as much as I would have thought. That is until he drops to his knees and spreads my legs. And he is definitely not doing this.

"Forget it you bastard!"

Now he growls. Sure like that better than all the chuckling and grinning.

"You better do what I say or these claws will do some damage that won't heal that nicely."

The way his index finger strokes the inside of my thigh when he says that fuels my fantasies in a very bad way. He'll probably be able to rip out my uterus with one finger. And I definitely don't want that to happen. I don't really want kids, but I do like my reproductive organs right where they are. What is he doing now? He lifts up my right leg and puts it on his shoulder. His nose is so close he is practically inside me. The razor is put to work again and he really is careful.

Except for the claw that scratches the inside of my thigh. I hiss and his shoulders vibrate.

"I think you like this more than you admit, pet."

"I have a fucking name! And speaking of, now that we're this close and personal, you could tell me yours."

"You think so?"

"I'm not letting a stranger shave me, buddy."

"All those expletives and you choke on the word pussy?"

"I didn't and you are definitely stalling."

Okay, what he does now I really don't want him to do. With one claw, and I mean claw, not side of the finger or anything, I mean the sharp, hard, pointed claw, he parts my folds to access the few stray hairs there.

"And you are definitely enjoying this, pet."

With a smack on my ass he gets up, I barely have time to pull back my leg or I would have landed on my ass, which would have been less than graceful. I am about to say the unfriendly things pooling up in my head so fast some of them fall onto each other when it hits me. The familiar gut wrenching pain that sets in a few days after I stop taking those pills.

"What the fuck's wrong with you?"

"I need my medication."

"Yeah, I know that."

"Asshole!"

"What kind of medication?"

"I don't know!"

His eyebrow arches up so far it looks like it is trying to hide in his hair.

"How long have you been taking it?"

I shrug.

"Since I can remember."

"You want to tell me a loud mouthed, annoying brat like you has taken some pills for years without knowing what they were for? You are even dumber than I thought."

"Well, I have tried not taking them and you know what? This is just the beginning and the effects were a lot worse than the heroin withdrawals so I decided taking them is by far the better option."

He seems to think for a moment.

"What did they look like?"

Like pills, dumbass!

"Small, diamond shaped with an x on it."

"Grey?"

"Yeah, how did you know?"

"Might have run across some of them a while ago. Now let's get you to your cell."

He grabs my arm and pulls me back through the corridor, this time I look the other way when we pass the open door. Though this is definitely better than how I got to the shower earlier I don't really like where things were headed-so I am really surprised when he pushes me in and starts to close the door.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing."

"My name's Victor. And what did you expect? Do I look like the kind of man that fucks his dog?"

And with this he slams the door shut.  
Oh. Oh that bastard will pay for this! I don't know when or how, but he is going to pay!


	6. Chapter 6

_**I am sorry for letting you wait so long. As I have promised Chaotic Jinx I will update once more this week and have another chapter ready by the beginning of next week, from there on I will try to make it a weekly instalment. Unless my throat starts bleeding again and I get a lovely coughitis right after it. Something about me just invites all those pesky germs to come and feel right at home.**_

_**Thank you JohnpaulGeorgeandRingo. Your last review made my eyes water. It were happy tears and my eyes straining to read the longest rambling review I have ever received. More, I say! You know that all the banter from now on is just for you right? You might believe me more if you hadn't read this chapter already. And a few after that :P Purple tuna pizza crowbar sea serpents with leopard print hats on a dolley for you.**_

Chaotic Jinx-I am very partial to Wade, he did appear in my crackfic series once, but I think Victor killed him. It was just implied, but still. He is very…annoying to write, at least for me. He likes to talk and ramble a lot, so do I and there can only be one rambler around :P And well, you will see. I am also sorry for making you cry, I promise another chapter by the end of this week and another next, hope that will make it a little better.

_**Labyrinth Lover, thank you!**_

_**And TigerChickTigriss thank you for liking it and well. I think we can all agree that Romance isn't the same when Victor Creed is involved, but you will see. At some point in the distant future, I like drawing things out like chewing gum^^**_

I am ashamed to admit that I am a little irked that he doesn't show up very often. Okay, I might be royally pissed. He's the only company I get down here, so even though I'd trade him in for a TV any day I do appreciate the existence of another…humanoid…around. He really ain't one for deep conversations, or conversations in general to be honest, but if he wasn't around my voice box would probably rot, along with what remains of my wit.

Though that has probably expired already. How could I have even remotely liked what he did to me in the shower? I mean, he did do a pretty good job with the razor, there is no stubble at all. Probably scared away the hair follicles. And he was really gentle, too.

Oh would you just listen to me. This ginormic feral mutant kidnapped me, almost tore me to ribbons, holds me as a pet and shaved me against my will and I start to blubber stupid bullshit like all those cliché girls I yelled at on countless TV shows. You know, the kind that defends their abusive scumbag boyfriend.

Though Victor is neither boy nor my friend. And abusive doesn't begin to describe it.

Victor.

Victor! What kind of name is that anyway?

All Victors I have met are assholes. Well, I've actually met only two so far, the first when I was about three. He hit me in the head with his toy Porsche and kicked me in the shins a few times. And I got punished when I was found sitting on his back and forcing him to eat sand.

Anyway, Victors are assholes.

It seems to be getting colder down here, from time to time at least. My teeth start to chatter and my whole body is shaking. Could also be the lack of pills, but I am not a doctor so don't mind me. Victor actually had a point, as much as I would like to ignore that. I was really stupid to take those pills without knowing what they were. Because this right here feels too much like withdrawals.

I almost didn't hear him approach. Actually, I didn't hear him until the loud thud outside my door just now. I hope he had a stroke and dropped dead. Serves him right. But of course not, he opens the door and strides in with his usual cocky attitude-I am pleased to see the smug grin falter somewhat when he sees me. He really doesn't appreciate his prey dying of anything but him, let me tell ya. He is in front of me faster than I can see-I only blinked once, damn it, grumbling something I can't understand, there are definitely words strewn in between the primal sounds, my mind just fails to process them. The world is all fuzzy around the edges, fuzzier than his chest. Hee hee.

And it's all turned sideways now. Interesting perspective and look at it spin all around me. It stops abruptly when a large paw smacks me across the face.

"Ow! What was that for, you jerk?"

"Can't be too serious if your mouth still works."

I'm still puzzled by what just happened when I realize that he has left the cell and is just walking back inside, a mattress under his arm as casual as others would carry a folded towel. With his free hand he lifts me up and I get seasick. Really, I think I hear the ocean somewhere. I return to the real world when he throws me down again-on my cot that is now one step closer to resembling a bed.

He pats me on the head and mumbles something about me having been a good girl or at least whatever I think that means and once again, the sarcasm. Maybe he can teach me before he kills me, I'll be a real good little grasshopper.

I spend some time in a sort of stupor, it is that amazing to lie on something soft and not cold for a change. A blanket and I would die of happiness-which is exactly why that sneaky bastard won't give me one. Then there is the fact that I am having trouble with the whole getting up thing. Sometimes I let myself drop off the cot and roll towards the drain in the middle to relieve myself. I hate it but what am I supposed to do?

A tray with some greasy cold stuff is slowly molding on the floor next to me, I can't eat. I'd hurl it all across the room and that won't be pretty. The mold is greenish and I named him Pete. Pete says Victor can't cook for Poop and probably died of clogged arteries a few days ago.

Unfortunately my hopes are crushed when I wake up, feeling remarkably undizzy, just weak, and realize the door is open. Everything in me screams that this is a trap of sorts, but I don't care. Adrenaline surges through my body and I find the strength to lift the carcass my soul inhabits off the mattress and slowly walk towards the door. There are the stairs, to my right, illuminated and oh so tempting. The door up there is slightly ajar. I can flee. I can do this.

A quick glance to the left scares the living daylight out of me. Victor is in the dark hallway that will lead to the shower, some light from the stairs falls on his face. He is crouching, one hand on the floor and he grins. How long has he been sitting there, waiting for me to come out? Really, doesn't he have anything better to do?

I realize that I have been staring at him much like a deer in the lion's headlights, do lions have headlights, I doubt it, when he speaks.

"Run."

Did he just drool and who cares, my legs don't. They are already halfway up the stairs. Something like hope sparks up when I am close enough to reach the door. I push it open and… am thrown to the floor. His knee is on my back, holding me down with what I am sure is just a fraction of his weight.

"Gotcha."

I absolutely know he is grinning.

"Glad to help you out there. Can I go back to my coma now?"

He puts something around my neck and when I hear the snapping I realize what it is.

"A fucking collar? What's next, a leash?"

"I am going away on business for a few days. I did hire a petsitter but I want to make sure you stay in your place."

"Can't you equip me with GPS in a way that is a little more humiliating?"

He laughs that roaring laugh of his again and I just wish he'd get off my back.

"There is no need for that bullshit. If you run I will find you, without any gadgets."

"Is this a promise or a threat?"

I feel his breath on the side of my neck as he bends down.

"Why don't you decide?"

Why do I think he gets a kick out of that? I get goose bumps from all that breathing down my neck.

He picks me up-by the collar, thank you very much. We have successfully established now that it is quite the strong collar. It holds all the way down the stairs and into my cell. I protest when he tries to take away the moldy bowl.

"That's Pete! Leave him here! Don't kill him!"

"Did you breathe that shit in or something?"

And out he goes, only to return a little later, a disgusting old man in tow. Now, he might not be that old, around fifty. But I did mean the disgusting part. He has those leery eyes. Apparently, he is supposed to be my petsitter while Victor is gone.

"Don't even think about runnin', pet. I will find you and you will not like it."

"No shit, Sherlock!"

He grabs me by the throat again. I'm starting to like the view up here.

"No talking, either."

He blocks the view on the disgusting guy but I hear that asshole chuckle. I am itching to beat his scarred skull in. Victor grins at me as I struggle to get to that idiot. He slowly puts me down but keeps me pressed against the wall and turns around to asshole number two.

"No talk from you, either. You put down the food by the door and leave. I'll be able to smell if you were in here and touched her, no matter what you try."

With that, they leave me alone.

Why do I think this is going to be even less fun than putting up with Victor?


	7. Chapter 7

**Ha. I said I would update, and here it is! I am proud, I really am, a little.**

**Thank you all who reviewed, Jinx of the 2****nd**** Law, Labyrinth Lover and jasdas and Chaotic Jinx (now let me tell ya that I have currently two Team X stories cooking because I am insane and like writing 8 stories at once and there will be Wade. They will be posted at some point too, hooray!)**

**I would also like to thank everyone that hasn't called the guys in white on me yet (feel free to call the guy in black trenchcoats/leather jackets and flannel shirts though). Life is throwing truckloads of lemons at me, but I have salt and Tequila waiting. Party, everyone! **

**Next update can be expected on Monday. I always find Mondays really boring and wouldn't mind if they just never came, a little Victor could improve that. Just my humble opinion. So you don't have to wait THAT long :P**

**Since I have neglected this: I am still not making money with this, please do not sue, I have nothing. I also don't own anything but an OC, if I did own Victor… I wouldn't have the time to write this. I'd be hiding under my bed hoping he won't find me there (I AM that stupid.).**

**

* * *

**

I spend so much time asleep that I am beginning to suspect I have developed some sort of disorder. I'm not narcoleptic but I sure sleep a lot. Or doze. Or daydream, though that is the wrong description somehow. How do you have any pleasant daydream when a giant feral lingers above your head like a hairy sword of doom.

However when I hear the lock on the door slide to the side I am up within a fragment of a second, sitting up with my back against the wall and crouching so that my body is somewhat covered. Because the man behind the door will not be Victor.

And sure enough, the door opens and that creepy old fuck leers at me, pushing in a tray with what looks like a lump of charcoal and moldy vegetables in with his foot.

"No need to cover yourself, bitch, I already had some fun watching you on the cameras."

I shudder at the thought of him jerking off while watching me sleep. And that is just what he did, I know that. Not just because I see a stain on his black jeans. I think I can smell it. It is all in my head, but it's all there nonetheless, making me feel sick. Thankfully there is nothing I can vomit up and I fight the urge to retch, I will not acknowledge his presence at all. First of all, I'm not stupid. If Victor has surveillance set up in here he will be able to access it later. I doubt he trusts that guy enough. And I don't want to do anything this guy could take as an invitation-guys like him think looking at them is an open invitation comparable to saying "Come and fuck me!". So I stare at the wall while he chuckles and makes quite a few rude gestures and I once more wish Victor had killed me already.

_Victor didn't like that guy one bit. He kept seeing his face while boarding the private jet so kindly sent by the man that had hired him, taking him across the country quicker than any airline could. He kept seeing it during the flight, in the magazine he flipped through and it annoyed him to no end. He didn't like doing anything half-assed, and hiring this guy certainly was. Unfortunately the only person he would have somewhat trusted to look after the pet had been killed last month. By him._

_He checked his pockets and fished a small, flat screen from his coat that was directly connected to his house's security system. Not only could he access the cameras and the videos they recorded and saved to an external server, he could also shut down the entire place if he felt like it. Even though he had already decided that he would kill Gary as soon as he came back Victor wanted to see if he behaved. The entire house was quiet so he switched to the cameras in the cell. There he was, talking to her. Victor growled. It figured that that ass didn't listen to his orders. The food looked wrong, too._

_At least she was behaving, he noticed that. She stared straight ahead, on her bed in a crouch, and ignored Gary. Victor was glad this thing had no speakers, the things Gary was saying would probably prompt him to force the pilot to turn around again. And for now he had a job to concentrate on._

I have no idea how many days have passed, but I am really hungry. And the troubles I had the last time I didn't take my pills have come back. Every tiny sound sounds too loud to me, giving me a headache. The smell of the creepy guy makes me sick. I can still smell the stench of his cum on him, along with piss, stale beer and cold smoke. The moldy food in my cell stinks. And he gets angrier every time he shows up. I am still not speaking to him, still not even looking. His voice keeps getting shriller and louder, making my head hurt. I still don't believe I actually miss Victor. There has been something very reassuring about his presence. And I really, really can't hold back a comment much longer. I want to tell that bastard what I think about him exactly.

Now he gets into a detailed description of what he wants to do to me. I do think this rant is brought to me entirely by cheap porn made somewhere in a Russian basement. I hear a zipper, which is new. I catch a glimpse and can't help but snort.

Cute.

Which in turn fuels his anger even more.

_Victor decided to cut his business trip short when he received a phone call from one of his reliable sources. He had contacted them to dig up information on his pet, her family and the pills she had mentioned. When his suspicions had been proven right he decided to just kill the people he was paid to kill and head back home._

_The other reason being that he didn't like what he kept seeing when he checked the surveillance footage. He was in his car now, heading back home. A surprise for his pet in the trunk, he could hear the muffled screams and grinned._

_When he glanced at the screen again he growled. Gary had dropped his pants and was about to enter the cell._

_Snarling Victor slammed his foot down on the pedal._

He's in the cell now. I managed to slide off to the side just a bit, just within reach of one of the trays. He moves in closer and I grab it, hitting him in the face with it.

"You fucking cunt!"

Now fists are flying. I knew I wouldn't stand a chance against him, my chances would have been slim if I hadn't felt sick and wasn't starving. Now… Well, goodbye cruel world. I really wish Victor had killed me before, this is an even less dignified way to go. Killed by a slimy old creep with a shrivelled up dick.

My head flies from side to side and he spits all over me while he screams. One blow to the temple and I lose my hearing, not the worst thing to happen, really. His breath stinks up the air as he bends down over me and says something. He leans down on me and kneads my breasts. Is it normal that I am not feeling anything? Gathering my last bit of strength I jerk up my knee and rejoice when I feel it hit something soft. His face contorts but he stays in place. Pinning me down and forcefully spreading my legs.

Being this close to a certain death has me hallucinating because I can smell Victor. Moments later I see the face of an angel. A very hairy, angry angel with bared fangs, but right now it is the most beautiful face in the universe. A weight is lifted off me and I hear something, a dull thud, crunching. My ears are still screwed up, as if I got water in them or something.

The floor under me vanishes and I feel weird. There is Victor again, he might be carrying me. We leave the cell, I am baffled.

"Please no shower, I'm not that hairy yet."

I think he chuckles and soon after I am put down. I smell leather and it is soft and pleasant. Smells like Victor too. Something warm and fuzzy covers me and I close my eyes.

_Victor is beyond mere rage in a place he feels at home. He doesn't like it if people disobey his orders, he likes it even less if they touch what's his. Seeing the little pervert about to rape his pet took his rage to another dimension._

_After leaving her on the couch, with the beating she just took she isn't about to go anywhere, he stalks back into the basement to finish him off. Then a thought hits him. He enjoys his work and likes to think of it as a craft, something creative really. And he has just had a very, very creative idea. Grinning to himself he walks into the cell, takes out the mattress and shuts the door behind him. Gary is in a pile on the floor, still dizzy from being thrown against the wall with full force, but very much alive. And Victor will keep him this way until the pet has recovered_.

I blink a few times before I realize my surroundings have changed drastically. I am on a couch. A real couch. Soft, black leather. Good for him, the blood stains won't show too much. There is a blanket. Soft and fuzzy blanket. I didn't picture him as being the kind of person to own stuff like that. But who knows, maybe he likes to cuddle up on the couch on a rainy day with his fuzzy blanket, watch reruns of Friends and eat some raw cookie dough. Or raw meat.

It smells like food. Pizza again. I love pizza. I'd even eat pizza with anchovies right now. I hate those little bastards.

I inhale deeply, does the pizza come closer? Uuuh, salami. I love salami. Lots of cheese. Hey, does it move away again? I frown and hear someone chuckle. Of course, that asshole is teasing me again!

"Do you wanna eat or are you going to try and inhale it?"

Unwilling I open my eyes to be greeted by a plate with two glistening slices of pizza Victor is shoving right into my face. Without a word I take it and dig in. Ouch that is hot! But who cares, it is pizza! I wolf it down, there is always time to moan about the burns later.

"You have been very good these past days."

I find time to roll my eyes, that is all the response he will get from me until I have polished off that pizza and licked every last drop of grease from my fingers.

"And your cell is now occupied. So is the other clean one."

If he tells me he wants me to sleep at the foot of his bed I better get busy choking on that pizza. Too bad that somehow there's only one bite left. I better make this one count, then.

"You can sleep in the guestroom. You will find that the windows can't be opened and I'll lock the door."

Whatever it is. He came before creepy guy could rape me, he gave me a blanket and pizza. Victor is my hero. He absolutely is, at least for now. Funny how quickly things can change, but I will go back to hating his guts tomorrow.


	8. Chapter 8

**It is that time of the year again. People annoy me with stupid music I dodge by refusing to turn on the radio and not shopping in stores that play it, there's lights everywhere and I am sick and tired of Christmas sweets that have been on displays since October. Better for you because that makes me curl up at home and let my inner Victor run free. I am so excited by recent ideas that will hit you around chapter 13 or so you will not know it. You have a friend of mine to blame for that. Her and her girlfriend got me into music that probably won't make my accomplice's ears bleed and…where was I? Oh, there is a song that screams Victor (not quite literally, but that would be something. One day I will found my Zombie Country band and there will be a song called Victor. Anyway.) and it inspired quite a lovely happening that brings the story forward in unsuspected ways. Until then, let's get it on, with the story at least, yes? Tis Monday after all. From now on Special Pets Monday. Unless you guys rock my world hard and I decide to be even more awesome than I usually am and shell out another update. Life is hectic right now and I'd like to provide a steady flow of updates. At least once in my life :P**

**Massive shoutouts to:**

**TigerChickTigriss, Chaotic Jinx, Leonaria Dragonbane, diamondgirl697, Jinx of the 2****nd**** Law, Labyrinth Lover, jasdas… I hope I named you all. Have some Victor with your hot chocolate and dip away :P**

**I STILL don't own Victor Creed. The world is such an unfair place! I am also not making money with this, though I would be happy to provide a script in case people got their heads out of their asses and decided to make a Sabertooth movie. I'll have the petitions ready shortly. Why did I almost type shirtless? Oh, alright, on with the actual story!**

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I have just finished my pizza and am about to eat my fingers too, they taste so damn good, when he tosses the box at me.

"Before you gnaw off your arm. Now let me get a look at those injuries there."

He pulls away the blanket and grins as I groan in protest. It was so nice and warm under there! To my surprise there's rarely any blood on it. It felt like I have been bleeding like a pig, especially from the wound on the back of my head. I try to touch it but Victor swats my hand away.

"Hey, what the fuck was that for? You want to play doctor all by yourself?"

He chuckles and pins me down on the couch. Unfortunately my mouth is full of pizza and it is kind of hard to breathe when your head is being pressed into the couch. I gag and choke a bit, but that doesn't interrupt his examination at all. He lifts up my hair and I can feel that it is matted, can even smell the blood. It doesn't make me as sick as I thought it would. His claws scratch my scalp and I growl, trying to kick him does prove to be nearly impossible though. He is pretty much kneeling on me, it is hard to reach him like that.

"You really are quite the impressive healer, pet."

I really wish he'd stop calling me that. I also wish he wouldn't have said that so close to my ear. It's unsettling. I shiver and he grins. How do I know? Oh I can hear that. He's so close to my ear I hear the hair on his face move. I'm not kidding. Maybe I took a few blows to the head too many.

"Well, let's get you to your room then."

He's gone as suddenly as he came, pulling me up by the collar again and carrying me up the stairs like I really am some damn puppy.

"Victor! Can't you just let me walk for fuck's sake?"

I turn my head to glare at him, by now my eyes are probably bulging out. It is hard to breathe when he carries you around like that. He grins that mean grin again.

"Maybe once I got a leash for you. While I'm at the pet store, do you want a squeaky toy?"

We have arrived upstairs and he opens the first door to the right. It's a small bedroom but compared to my cell this is a suite at the god damn Hilton. He drops me, literally drops me, on the floor and I am glad that, in spite of everything, my reflexes work and I land on my hand and feet and not my face.

"Look at you, a scratch post and a little mouse would be more appropriate."

He checks the windows, they can't be opened at all, there's a lock on them, and lets down the blinds. Again, neighbours wouldn't like seeing a naked, bruised girl wearing a collar banging at the glass, now, would they? Maybe. Seeing Victor, he probably lives in a neighbourhood full of perverted assholes. Where guys take their ladies for a walk on leashes, or the other way around. You know, all dressed in leather, with masks and all.

"I don't need a scratch post, just let me have a go at your face."

I really, really want to scratch his eyes out and that smug grin off his face. Pretty please.

The grin vanishes and is replaced with a curious look, head tilted to the side. This can't be good. He slowly approaches me and I step back, trip over the bed and land on it. Oh great, really.

He looms over me for a moment, eyeing me. I hate it when he does that, I know he will hurt me and he knows I know, he just likes to keep me waiting for it.

"And I thought you had learned your lesson about manners, pet. I am disappointed."

He leans down over me and I have time to watch the muscles in his upper arms move. What is it with him walking around in undershirts. Well, he is at home so he can do what he wants… Oh.

His eyes are narrowing dangerously and there comes the blackness in them again. There is some sound I can't identify, like crackling? Electric, somehow. And then his pocket plays a melody.

Is that Slayer? Nice.

With a growl he stalks out of the room, slams the door shut and I can hear a key turn over. Twice. He doesn't do things half assed.

"What!"

If he always answers the phone like that there is no wonder he has no friends. Well, that and the killing and torturing part. I just assumed he has no friends. He doesn't really have what is generally called "people skills".

So I go about surveying the room, the usual pacing. I don't count steps or measure the room by them, I save that for later, when I am really, really bored. The floor is amazing. Hardwood. So wonderful after all the tiles. And not grey, which is definitely a plus.

The walls are white and bare, there is a twin bed with nondescript black comforter… and overall black bedding. He certainly has a style. There is nothing else in this room, not even a closet. But no cameras, either. At least I can't see anything.

And I just realized that there is no drain.

Of course this is the point at which my body realizes that I really, really need to pee.

I wonder how he would look if he walks in and steps right into a puddle. Would be more fun if he'd ever take off those boots of his, but he probably sleeps in them.

And because I can't stand the idea of just letting it all out I hammer my fists against the door.

"Victor?"

I hear nothing.

"VICTOR!"

He is downstairs, I just heard him. Was that the fridge?

"I AM ABOUT TO PISS ON YOUR HARDWOOD FLOORS!"

There you go. Steps on the stairs. Heavy boots. I might be paranoid but part of me is still expecting that old pervert to show up.

"What the fuck pet. Stop screaming."

I smile at him ever so sweetly.

"I wasn't sure if you could hear me or not."

"People two counties away could hear you."

"Yeah well, I need to go."

"So I gotta put a litterbox on the list, too."

"Can't I just use one of yours for now?"

He grabs my neck and pushes me out of the door and down the hall. We pass two doors and then he pushes me into a door to my left which is another humongous bathroom. That guy likes to keep himself clean. Wonder who cleans all this for him, I doubt he does it himself. Down on his knees, scrubbing the white marble… Ha.

"So, go. And while we're here, we need to wash that stench off you."

I smell, I know that. I also smell like old pervert, which is really not very nice. But he wants to watch me piss and take a shower. Well, he has probably done that many, many times on camera and well, the shower thing is not very new so I won't do him a favour and freak out or anything. I sit down on the toilet, realizing that this is the first time in a long while that I am allowed to use one and eye the shower, that looks similar to the one in the basement.

I also remember what happened there last time and a shiver runs down my spine.

Victor chuckles.

Bastard.


	9. Chapter 9

**Aw, what a lovely sight, all those wonderful reviews. Now I feel special. In a good way, not in the way people usually refer to me. Anyway.**

**Welcome to the deranged family, Anca, ceilidh-kay and LothirielSaerwen-you two did pick some hard to type names. Especially for me, typo IS one of my middle names after all. I did do some other things before I sat down to post this, but it is one of the first things in the morning. Thank you for reviewing, liking and asking for smut-it will be there, though not as Xmas prezzie, sorry. We are gradually getting there, promise. In January, quite likely :P**

**Thank you to diamondgirl697 and Jinx of the 2****nd**** Law-I know I can never win but I will just drown my tears with lots of eggnog with rum and all will be well. Or something like that.**

**This still includes dirty words. Dirty captives that are now clean, (surprising?) revelations, tall dark and handsome ferals that will not hesitate to come stalk you if you should choose to not review this story and I am pretty sure there's other stuff in there that I should warn about.**

**I do not own Victor Creed but it's only a few days until Christmas and I have been a pretty bad girl this year so I got my hopes up and first aid kit stocked, just in case. I do own Lillith and her attitude, though that has already been reserved by my accomplice in case it isn't needed anymore.**

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I can't say what puzzles me more. The nonchalant way he just left me, telling me I'd probably be capable of locating the shower and the soap myself. Or the fact that I got really angry about that. Not because he implied that I am incapable of locating a shower in a bathroom-a large shower at that, I mean come on, this thing has a presence about as subtle as his-but because he left me alone. He never did that before. I mean, he just watched me…

Oh god damn it, would you listen to me. I whine because the kidnapping *sshole doesn't want to take a shower with me. Which he hasn't done last time but you know. Now I'm infuriating myself, which isn't nice at all.

So I turn on the shower, fully expecting him to barge in any second to… I don't know. Punish me for being stupid enough to think he'd let me do anything on my own. Again with the generic soap, but better than nothing. I guess all those products with artificial smells are kind of harsh on his poor little nose. Well. Little ain't the appropriate word for that honker, but you know what I mean.

Not wanting to linger longer than necessary, with his temper you never know, I wrap myself in a gigantic black towel and step in front of the mirror to check out my injuries. Damn am I looking horrible or what. I have never been this skinny, I look like I should be in Hollywood, as a decorative clothes rack in some low rate, high budget movie. Minus the breast implants of course. But other than that… It isn't as bad as I thought it would be. My lip that felt like it had been in two pieces last night, it is actually just a little split. Two black eyes, just slightly swollen. And lots of bruises. And I mean: lots. There is about an inch of skin on my left arm where there aren't any. I pull down the towel to look at the scars Victor has so skilfully left, but there are none on my sides and the one over my sternum… Well, it will fade to almost nothing. It is a soft pink still and very visible against my relatively pale skin, but it will be okay.

So, what do I do now? Slowly stroll down the stairs in this stunning little black number? Maybe a little dance routine would be in order. Maybe he's waiting for me downstairs and music will play, we will go out to dinner. I think that old bastard hit my head harder than I thought. I was convinced I heard my skull crack. But when I washed my hair all I felt was a lump. A tennis ball sized lump, but only that.

"What the fuck is taking her so long."

Did he just say that downstairs? Something is really, really wrong here.

I walk towards the door and cautiously open it-just to run smack into Victor. Hasn't he just been downstairs? I hear him snort and the next thing I notice is that he yanks the towel away from me. It looked so perfect, all it needed was some accessories. Though the black collar did match nicely.

"Didn't say you could cover up, pet."

"Some people actually like wearing clothes. Like you. Don't see you run around the house naked."

"Well, that's because you are the pet, not me. And I wouldn't want to distract you."

Oh as if. As if. He is not that nice to look at. Aside from those nice arms and the chest. I didn't think that, someone randomly invaded my mind just now, thought those thoughts and left again. Good riddance, I hope that bitch never comes back.

All I can do is snort. That's right, there is so much rage built up inside of me I can't even talk. It's not like I don't know what to reply to that.

"Come on, I got a little surprise for you."

"Is there another zookeeper involved because you better kill me right here. I'm also not eager to see the nice video you made out of the surveillance tapes from my cell. Could you please not start to sell it before you killed me? That would be really kind."

He growls and grabs my neck again. His claws are scratching my skin and I sigh.

"This is really getting old."

We are downstairs now and are headed for… No. Oh no. No way. I lean backwards in a futile attempt to dig in my heels. I am not going down there again. He is grinning, I just know he is. I feel his claws retract and they actually punctuate my skin, drawing blood. It trickles down my skin and feels awful. The smell sort of reminds me of tuna right now, I don't know why. I like tuna and I definitely don't like blood- maybe it's the can it is in, it has a metallic undertone…

We're in the basement now.

"Home sweet home." I grumble as Victor leads me past my old cell. I hear someone panting in there. That has got to be the old bastard.

"I was sort of hoping you killed him."

"That can wait. I'll let him starve for a while."

"I kind of like your style. Not when I'm the one starving, but I have to admit I like it right now."

He doesn't respond to that but leads me past another cell… the one he has yet to clean, thank the Gods for small favours he has shut the door now. There is another door, shut too and he stops in front of it, lets go of my neck to open it. Here's a large bolt too, one I could probably not lift after a few weeks on a high protein diet and a massive workout routine. He looks like he just shoved aside a toothpick. Then he shoves me inside roughly and I stumble and fall on my knees, god DAMN!

"Lilly?"

Rick? I snap my head up and really, there he is, tied to a chair, my former bodyguard. I sure hope my father hasn't hired Victor to snuff him because he lost me-on his day off. My father's head works that way though. He should have SENSED it, because apparently all people are supposed to have spidey senses that tingle. I only have a hot guy sense and it does tingle too but that is another story and best not told in a dungeon while naked.

"It's me, in the flesh. Less flesh, but still."

"Shut it, pet."

I just hauled myself off the floor and I find time to glare at Victor, how dare he disturb this joyful reunion of the badly beaten and tied up man and the naked, collared and badly beaten girl? But his expression stops me. He's not angry. He has gotten into a fast car and driven past angry without even glancing at it, barely slowed down at rage and is now… I don't know where he is but he looks fucking intimidating as he towers over Rick, snarling. So I haven't really seen him angry before. Am I glad? Fuck yes I am. Though it is quite interesting to watch, now that I am not the recipient.

"Why don't you tell her what you told me, old man?"

Rick looks over to me, eyes widening and I know that expression, though I have never seen it on his face before. He is afraid. Absolutely, shitting-his-pants scared. Through all this years I have never seen him like that. It is weird, though I am currently having an out-of-body experience here. I think I will not like what he has to say.

"I'm so sorry girl…" he whispers and I am not sure if he means this situation or what he is about to say.

"Get to the point!"

Victor isn't yelling. His voice is barely audible and very, very menacing. Part of the intimidation factor, aside from his threatening stance and the muscles looking coiled and ready to spring into action, is the hand closing around Rick's throat.

"How is he supposed to speak like that?"

I managed to say it calm and very, very low, but I know he hears me nonetheless because his head whips around, facing my direction now and those eyes… the eyes scare me more than anything. They went all black again. But he lets go of Rick's throat, giving the man a little room to breathe. And talk.

"Your father… he has a secret he doesn't want anybody to know about. Those pills you were taking, he was the one who funded the research behind them, you were one of the first children to receive them."

"So I was a fucking guinea pig?"

I don't even want to know what they are for. I want to put my hands on my ears and rock back and forth for a while. Have Victor lock me up in here again until I am slowly dying. I don't care. Victor is in front of me. How did I end up on the floor again? My vision is weird, all blurry and a little red around the edges. So I see colours now or what. Is he smiling? Yes he is. Not one of those very reassuring smiles but those of little boys that torture small animals and smile while doing so. He grabs my hands and yanks them away from my ears.

"You need to listen to the next part, pet. It is one good story."

"They are a suppressant. They help suppress mutations. Your father, he is a mutant. So was…is your mother. And so are you."

"Fuck me. And nobody ever bothered to tell me, that is just great. Victor, can you please gut me now or something? I do everything you want. Want me to beg? Alright, let's get this over with."

"Oh no pet, I sure won't. And he's not done yet, it gets better."

He's chuckling. I really don't like it when he does that. I try to head out of the door but he grabs me, of course, and holds me firmly in place. He's right behind me and radiating heat. I hate that. I liked the cold a lot.

"Tell her what kind of mutation. Go ahead or I will have to bite an ear off to show her."

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Kicking him in the shin is really not much fun when you are not wearing shoes. I broke at least two toes.

"Your father is a feral, with traits much like a lion. I don't know what kind your mother was, but she was a feral, too."

I can see where this is headed. But I am not some kind of giant cat or anything. I'm just the girl who gets kidnapped a lot. I'm also the girl that has an asshole for a father that hates mutants. One that freaked out when a former business partner had given me The Lion King for my Birthday. The girl that suddenly hears Victor mutter downstairs and smells pizza on him well after he ate it probably. I am the girl that for some reason has recovered from a bad beating rather quickly…

Oh fuck.

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**So I know some of you saw it coming, probably most of you but hiding her mutantness isn't the point of this story. What exactly the point is will be revealed later. Once I figured it out :P**


	10. Chapter 10

**So sorry everyone. hope you had great holidays and all-I was stuck in a snowdrift with my hub and the kid, in the course of freeing the car I almost lost a finger. There was also a car accident, a guy thought speeding on icy roads was alright and used my friend's car to brake, that had me bedridden for four days, I could move nothing but my fingers. Germans just can't drive in these weather conditions! We're not used to winter up here. I am longing to move back to Canada every freaking day. Anyway, since I am technically still not supposed to sit up so long… I will not thank everyone individually-I'll do it next time, I promise^^**

**A hot chocolate (with marsmallows or whipped cream) and a feral (with marshmallows and/orwhipped cream) to all the reviewers! Back on track, next update Monday!**

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I still don't want to hear anything. Victor grins and Rick shakes. I wonder if he will kill him. I hope not. He has been the one who fed me the pills all those years but the real evil guy here is, as usual, my father. Should I ask Victor not to kill him? It wouldn't make any difference. Maybe he would kill him the second after I asked, just to see me squirm. And scream. And hurl all over him. And… I would definitely try to at least get to one of his eyes.

"Come on pet, let's get you out of here. Wouldn't want you to be traumatized."

Instead of an answer all I do is scream and try to get to him. He grabs me by the collar and carries me out of the room, arm outstretched as if I was something really smelly. As soon as we have left the cell he drops me to the floor and closes the door before turning around to me, huge grin in place. Do his fangs get longer or am I just imagining things?

"That was a very nice show in there, pet. Now he will run back to your daddy and tell him how mean I am treating you."

"You say that like it's a good thing."

"Of course it is."

He grins and I would like him to elaborate further, but he is dragging me up the stairs. Somehow I get the impression that he doesn't want to talk about this. Pity. I enjoy knowing what's going on.

"Maybe I'm still suffering from the hits to my head or the huge set of issues that was just added to my list but… how the fuck is that good?"

I would also like to know why he doesn't just kill him since that seems to be his usual way of dealing with everything, but I'm guessing I will get that explanation in a moment. If he doesn't make up his mind and just sees how often he can push me down the stairs until I die.

"He tells your dad, he'll get mad. He'll also know that you know how he fucked with you. And the fact that you're here with me will piss him off even more."

Yeah, I bet that. Rick will tell him all about it. Me naked, wearing a collar, badly bruised. Though Victor didn't cause any of them, I have to be fair in that. For some reason he hasn't hurt me too much ever since that first cutting. Wonder what's up with that.

"And why would you…"

He drops me on the kitchen floor and I scream a string of colourful curses. He needs to stop doing that, it hurts.

"Did I say we could play 20 fucking questions?"

"Excuse me fuckhead, this happens to be something I am very interested in since it is about my god damn father!"

"Be patient, pet. And since you have nothing else to do make something to eat, will ya."

I can't believe him. I really can't. Before I know it I am standing in front of him, hands on my hips and really, really angry. Too bad that I'm not tall enough to look directly into his eyes. If I looked straight ahead I would look at his chest. So I need to tilt my head back, which absolutely takes away from the pissed off and dangerous feeling.

"Why don't you cook your own food you fucking asshole!"

He leans down so that his face is about half an inch away from mine. And damn are those eyes creeping me out again. How can they look so intense and so angry? And amused at the same time? It's confusing me!

"You better watch it, pet. You might heal quicker than the usual pathetic lump of flesh but that doesn't mean you'd like to see your guts being spread on the kitchen floor."

Now he's just kidding, that big clown.

"If you wanted to kill me you would have done that days ago."

I admit it: I am absolutely lost here. Murky waters and all that. Maybe he will still kill me. With Victor there is only one thing that is for certain: nothing is absolutely certain.

"Just because I haven't killed you yet doesn't mean I can't do it now."

It's annoying how I have to stand on my tiptoes now to get even closer to his face.

"Go ahead."

It sounded just as taunting as I wanted it to. He keeps staring into my eyes though he's definitely more amused than angry now. I feel one of his hands on my stomach. What the fuck is he doing… His claws lengthen against my skin and he lightly scratches them across my stomach, enough to draw blood. I will not flinch I will not flinch I will not…

"Bastard!"

He chuckles. Of course he does. As if to heighten the fun he has his claws dig in deeper.

"There's steak in the fridge. Get cookin'."

And off he goes. Wonder if he has an apron somewhere, I don't feel like hot oil on my nipples today. Something that says "Kill the Cook" or something. Maybe even one of those with the bodybuilder body on them, you know what I mean. I am having fun degrading him in my head; it doesn't seem to work too well in reality.

"Rare."

He grumbled that somewhere down the hall. I'm guessing he's in another room. Not the living room, I can see that from here and he sounded further away. I also hear a computer I guess. This hearing still freaks me out. I can also smell the steak in the fridge. It is uncooked but it smells great already.

So I guess he likes his meat not quite dead then. To each their own, I have always preferred medium. He strolls back in, I could hear him down the hall of course, even heard the chair creak slightly.

"No spices. And there's some marrow bone too, read it was safe for pets."

He looms around somewhere behind me while my top half is stuck in the fridge. There are some nice sirloin steaks, five to be precise. I'm wondering if he wants to eat them all at once…

"Four for me, one for you. If you want to mess around with spices on yours use another pan."

I guess his taste buds are as sensitive as his ears. Wonder if mine will get like that too, I mean after all… all I got was some disgusting leftovers and that glorious pizza. With my burned mouth I could hardly taste anything.

"I don't suppose you have anything green in the house?"

"I can let you out in the garden to pick some grass and leaves."

"Why, aren't you funny."

I think his talent for sarcasm is slowly rubbing off.

"Be glad that the entertainment factor still outweighs the annoyance."

Oh I am so grateful, master. I really am. Haha. Wonder if he won't try to kill me now that he knows I'm a feral, too. Still is weird to think about that. Me. A mutant. Did he know that when he kidnapped me?

"Did you know what I was when you kidnapped me?"

"Does that make any difference?"

So no. The oil is hot enough and, after finding at least salt and pepper, without his help might I add, I throw my steak in. After all it will need a lot longer than his. Preparing another pan I mull this over, I can't find any other reason why he would have picked me. Well…

"Do you hate cashmere?"

I turn around to look at him. He is leaning against the kitchen counter with a beer, watching me. It is kind of tempting to take that hot pan and hit him in the head with it. Though with his reflexes that seems nearly impossible. His eyebrow raises and I know if I don't say anything he will come up with something that hurts again.

"The night you caught me I wore that purple cashmere sweater. I have ruled out pretty much everything else so I thought it might have been the sweater."

"You really are stupid. Don't burn my steak."

And gone he is again. My steak is nearly done and I throw two steaks into the pan, quickly turn them over and put them on a plate, then I repeat that with the other two. A quick glance into the fridge shows me that I am lucky. There is some iceberg lettuce. Better than nothing. I cut a bit off, shred it and put it on my plate, I don't think he would appreciate that.

He probably smelled that his steak was ready, he walks around the corner and grabs his plate. I even managed to find forks and knives. Go me.

"Not too bad, pet."

Out he walks again, into the living room. I guess I am supposed to follow him, so I take my stuff and do so. He sits on the gigantic black leather couch, the TV is on, some sort of sports program. He points towards the floor and grins.

"Sit, pet."

"Are you kidding me?"

"No pets on the couch. Yesterday was an exception."

I growl, but obey for once. I have food on my plate that needs to be eaten. I can talk back right after this. And it really is close to orgasmic, as ashamed as I am to admit that. I have never tasted anything this good. Though it is slightly overcooked-seems like rare is the latest rage for ferals. Halfway satisfied I lean back against the couch and ignore the TV. The volume is set really low; I can still hear everything perfectly fine. Sleep would be great now. Would he mind if I curled up on the rug and dozed off? It is what pets do, right.

"So, what now. Want me to lie down on your feet? I'm not crawling into your lap."

Instead of going for the collar again he yanks me up by the hair. I should learn to shut my big mouth. But it would be so DULL around here without that added excitement.

Again his face is really close. And he is, surprise, angry. His fangs are bared and I am still not really impressed by that. Can he smell that on me? I hope he can. Hope it pisses him off even more.

"You are definitely begging to be muzzled."

"Oh, kinky. Just make up your mind already if I'm a dog or a cat. And don't get any weird ideas about peanut butter, I'm not licking that off anywhere."

He comes closer again and inhales. That is slightly unnerving so close to my ear.

"Well, you certainly smell like pussy…cat."


	11. Chapter 11

**Good day ladies! Welcome to the next instalment of Special Pets! I really need to kick myself into gear, the chapter I am currently working on is 14, my stash is dwindling. Haven't written anything in over a week. I blame messed up priorities. Life and such-but I bet you are very proud to hear that I managed to keep all appendages, did not get stuck in snowdrifts and only was a little sick. I was more than a little drunk this weekend but that is a different story and shall not be mentioned again.**

**Thank you, in order of appearance, to:**

**Ceilidh-kay (do ramble, it's what I always do, even in my stories, and it's a dying art form^^), nekuranekomegami, TigerChickTigriss, Jinx of the 2nd Law (I absolutely agree on the part where wearing a collar and being naked in a dungeon with Victor can be fun. Oh the ideas…), Ghost Author (Victor as P.I.? Oh NOW I am getting ideas again…), I-am-the-Wolf (Your review made me cry, in a very good way. I am tempted to ask you if this is one of your first Vicfics since you say it's one of your favorites but I won't :P), LothirielSaerwen (Your Victor is being shipped to you as we type. He is equipped with a few cans of whipped cream and a bottle of chocolate syrup that he refused to let go of. Have fun!), Carlypso (yes, he is. Isn't he lovely? :P), dancergrrl333 and diamondgirl697.**

**Now I can tell you this much: Her dad won't show up any time soon. But Victor has some interesting plans for his pet, we will see if she'll think so, too.**

**I still don't own Victor Creed (Santa? Yeah, I mean you, big fat man! I hate you!), I am in no way affiliated with Marvel or Disney (can you imagine? Singing birds and squirrels and a deranged young lady cussing and throwing rocks at them?), I do not make money with this (though I will set up a donation fund pretty soon) nor do I intend to (that's what my Rockstar career is for). This is simply the work of a deranged and twisted mind, written down and published to entertain fellow deranged and twisted minds (in a good way, sick and twisted in a good way!).**

**Have fun!**

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My jaw has been aching for a few days now and I certainly know how a teething baby feels. I am cranky and even though Victor lets me out of my room for a few hours each day-mainly to cook and amuse him greatly- I certainly don't feel like being friendly or anything. Okay, I wouldn't be friendly to him anyway but… Yeah. I am in pain. And currently staring at breakfast. Eggs and bacon, or in Victor's case, lots of bacon and five eggs. He should die of clogged arteries just by looking at it, but of course not. I can't bring myself to try and eat something, my teeth hurt terribly.

Victor grabs my chin and jerks around my head that… jerk. He pries up my upper lip with the claw of his index finger and grins.

"Aw, you are teething, pet."

"Thank you for stating the obvious, grand master."

I am definitely getting the hang of the sarcasm thing. Maybe it has something to do with the feral mutation after all. If that teething pain is anything to go by… I'd be perpetually pissed. His claws dig into my chin and I growl.

"You do nothing but piss me off, pet."

Before I can react I am flying through the room and crash into the wall, or rather, the cabinets, that hurts by the way, and land on all fours. Crouched down I feel a deep snarl rise up from somewhere deep inside me and the hair on my neck is bristling. Victor stares at me and grins, beckoning me over with both hands.

"Come on, pet. Try it."

I launch myself forward, eyes on his throat. I want to rip it open, tear his head off his shoulders, but while I'm still in the air I realize that it's not going to happen. He knows what I want to do and raises his arm to swat me like a god damn fly. I arch my back and manage to influence the direction at least a bit and my teeth sink into his biceps. That was easy, they are sharper than I thought. His blood flows into my mouth and I should find it revolting but…it tastes fucking good! Victor chuckles and lifts his arm, and me up with it. I just can't let go.

"Alright pet. Let go. Out!"

I'd like to tell him that I am not a fucking dog but my jaws are locked. I can't, really can't. Victor growls at me and shakes his arm. My body shakes back and forth, but I still can't let go. He grabs my face with his free hand and I hear a sickening crunching sound, followed by a sharp pain. Did he break my jaw? I'm dropping to the floor, trying to assess the damage with my hands. I realize that he just tore me off his arm, there is some meat and muscle still in my mouth and I retch. This is disgusting!

"If I didn't know any better I'd say your momma was a pitbull."

He leaves the room with a chuckle and I throw a plate after him, it misses his head by a mere inch or so and, without his body giving the slightest reaction, he says

"You better clean that up, pet."

And you know what's really infuriating? I actually do. I clean up while the taste of his blood still lingers in my mouth. I have had my share of small injuries on the hands where you just lick off the blood and suck on it, hoping the bleeding will stop soon, but that slightly revolting coppery scent wasn't nowhere near what I just tasted. This was… good. I mean, really good. Like chocolate, in a way. Have you ever opened a chocolate bar telling yourself you just wanted one piece and before you knew it you had eaten it all? Something like that. I wonder if it tastes like that for him all the time. It would explain a few things. But maybe he tastes different because of his mutation. Do I taste different? Questions, questions. He sure won't answer them.

A little while later I am cleaning the counter tops. Not that they really need to be cleaned, but I have no idea what to do. I cleaned up the broken plate, removed the chunk of his biceps, I cleaned up the stuff from breakfast and checked my teeth out in the shiny toaster. I have canines now, real canines. Fangs, whatever. Let's not think about that sort of thing for a moment. I need a distraction, badly. God I miss my music. Really. I listened to it all the time but my iPod was in my handbag and is probably in some gutter, smashed to bits. Big guy doesn't look like he appreciates technology that is dear to others, especially not my purple iPod.

I find myself humming a song when Victor appears in the doorway, holding something white in one of his hands.

"Stop slaughtering whatever song that is. We got plans."

"Oh really, we do? And I'm not slaughtering anything. Rob Zombie is great. It is sex on a record."

He cocks an eyebrow and shakes his head. Everything he does is mockery for fuck's sake!

"If I could I'd pity you and your terrible sex life."

"Says the one who fucks every hole that doesn't run away quick enough."

He walks closer, no, he stalks. And his face looks blank, except for the eyes. They sparkle again, it does do things to my lower intestines. They cower down shaking with fear, and so should I.

"Your theory is wrong, pet, I haven't fucked you yet. Does that bother you?"

Again with the breathing down my neck, it is not fair. He grins and tosses that white fabric at my head before walking away again.

"Put that on and come down to the basement. We will talk to your friend."

I catch it, it's a white undershirt actually. I have officially graduated to clothes now? Hooray. I pull it over my head and feel weird instantly. Before I have just been naked. Now I am wearing this shirt that smells like Victor, is more of a short dress on me and is very near see through in places it shouldn't be. Okay, everyone in this house has seen my tits already but now that they are sort of covered it is worse. Why do I think he is doing this on purpose.

So I walk down the stairs, fully counting on having to face Rick again, but he is waiting in front of another door. My old cell. Boy does it reek, I really wasn't smelling of roses and summer evenings. I understand why he dragged me into the shower, but he could have one installed in here. And boy that creepy guy stinks. He's very, very afraid. Good for him.

Victor opens the door and tells me to stay put. As soon as he walks in that creep starts with the begging. Has he no dignity? Okay, forget that I asked.

"Come on Victor, we have been working together in the past, you wouldn't kill me over some bitch, would you?"

I find that very insulting. I mean, really, next he will tell him how much I wanted it or what?

"I told you exactly what you had to do. I also told you to stay the fuck out of her cell, to keep your fucking hands off her and you managed to break every single rule, even a few I thought went without saying. But why don't we ask the bitch what she thinks about the way you treated her?"

Guess that is my cue. I have to say I enjoy seeing him there on the floor. Cowering, naked. Bruised, too. I think there should be more. And he does smell even more afraid now. I smile and make sure he sees my fangs. There is a thing or two I can learn from Victor when it comes to being a scary feral.

I just stand there for a while, taking in everything. It is as if my senses are tuning in and out, sometimes I get an onrush of scents, I can hear the heartbeats of Victor, loud and steady, and the creep, accelerated and fluttering, then it is as if I was still taking those pills and I hear nothing an ordinary human wouldn't hear. But when I get all those extra sensations and all, it's like a rush. It's by far better than heroin and I absolutely see why Victor is such a homicidal maniac. And this is something I will definitely ask him about.

_Victor's eyes narrowed as he watched the pet approach them. He hadn't expected anything, the one thing that had stopped him from killing her was the fact that no matter what he expected she would definitely do something else._

_Things had shifted since he had found out who she was. He had known both of their parents at some point, after Jimmy had left him he had been consciously looking for other ferals and had found her mother. She hadn't been very sociable at that time and very protective of her family, which was why Victor found it puzzling that she would abandon her only child and leave it with an asshole like Ari Tatz._

_Victor had done his best to forget his childhood and teenage years, but he knew that it had been hard when his mutation surfaced. He had tried to help his little brother as best as he could, but there were many things he would have done differently if he had been older and had the possibilities. The idea of helping_ _her was intriguing, because he could shape her in a way, carefully, without breaking her because that would take the fun out of things. He wanted her to have her own free will and still act in his interest. It was a challenge he was looking forward to complete, he would see what he'd do with her once he was done. She was still his pet, but the options were so much more attractive now that her mutation was surfacing. It would be interesting to see what exactly she would turn out to be, she had shown traits of both her parents' mutations. But so far he had never come across a feral who's parents were both feral mutants-up until now he hadn't even come across anyone who had another feral mutant in the family, like him and Jimmy. It would remain interesting._

_Her scent had changed, from angry to excited and was now going over to…pain? His eyes darted towards her hands, she was holding them up and staring at them. There were claws now, tiny, not only compared to his, and didn't look as sharp, but they would do some damage._

"_Go ahead, pet. Use them."_

Oh he sounds so smug again. This fucking hurt! I need a god damn manicure. Ow! My nails are even longer and harder now, not as long and pointy as Victor's. I try to retract them, nothing happens, they won't come out any further, either. Looks like the paws of a…

"Well, guess I'm a bitch after all."

The creep cringes and Victor chuckles. He is leaning against the wall of the cell as casual and menacing as only homicidal maniacs like him can do it. I swear he looks really disturbing, and it's not just his size or the way his muscles are all tense in spite of his seemingly relaxed pose. He just radiates this confidence and… danger. That's it. And I better stop staring at him and concentrate on the task ahead. He told me to use my new claws and for once I might just listen to him. But I certainly won't bite that creepy guy, I don't need half a brain cell that he won't taste half as delicious as Victor.

The fact that I just thought that is revolting in so many ways.

It is obvious that the guy is trying to speak, but his mouth is opening and closing, he looks even more like a disgusting fish now. I fucking hate fish. But hate doesn't even begin to describe what I feel for this fuckhead. He almost made Victor seem nice. Am I snarling again? I guess I am. The creep just pissed on himself, didn't he. I laugh. I really am laughing. It's all this time in this little cell with next to no food and all the darkness, I am sure. I am going nuts. And there flies my fist. I am really just a spectator now, taking a seat and letting someone else take over. Is that how it feels for ferals? I haven't got any experience with being a feral mutant but that's exactly how it feels. There's someone else in my head, snarling and howling and apparently beating the living daylights out of the creep. I'm just sitting here in my head, munching mental popcorn. The smell of blood is exhilarating, it mixes with the guy's fear and really, it's great. Before this I have been really partial to vanilla and lilacs, or fruity scents, they always raised my spirits. They can't hold a fucking candle to this.

There is some pulp where there once was a face and something in me clicks. My inner bitch is retreating, satisfied by now, and curls up somewhere inside of me. Is all that red on the white shirt, is that blood? Oh let's call Dexter, he'd like this. And quite frankly, so do I. There's some on my face, too. I tentatively poke my tongue at a drop on my upper lip. Not as bad as I thought, but I was right. Victor tastes way better.

Speaking of. I can hear him breathe. Now that my focus has shifted to him, he smells different, too. He is still leaning against the wall and even though his face is somewhere up there in the shadows I know that his eyes are all dark again. Which isn't as scary to me as it probably should be.

"What now? I'm not killing him."

"You'll get there, pet."

He is such a growly old bastard. But he is finally moving, reaching the creep with one fluid move and… snaps the guy's neck like a twig. That is impressive, nobody can argue that. Victor looks almost bored. I bet it feels all wrong to him, someone who likes to play as much as he does. And boy does he like to play. I wonder what that change in his scent was… oh. Don't ask me why my eyes wandered there, it's the way he's towering over the now dead creep that drew my eyes to his middle and now I definitely know what that scent is. Of course. Wasn't I just using the word impressive, I'd like to take that back and use it now, please.

He grabs me by the collar again and drags me out of the room. The other, new part of me doesn't like that and I try to punch him in the face. All I can reach is his arm and he growls and slams me into the wall, holding me up against it with his body. Very, very impressive I have to say…

"What makes you think you can keep pulling this shit with me, pet?"

His eyes are really as dark as eyes probably can be, and narrowed to slits. It fails to impress me the way it probably should have. If he really wanted to kill me he would have by now. I am not stupid, he doesn't like me more than everyone else, he just likes playing with me. And as long as playing with me is interesting enough I will live. I try to wriggle out of my close confinement and am instantly reminded that he liked my display of violence. A lot. It was a huge success… I will stop now. I lean forward as far as I can.

"Because you fucking like the shit I pull."

That could have been huskier but it gets my point across. His hackles are rising instantly. Not only those. Oh boy, there was more? Lord have mercy.

"It's about time you learned a thing or two about behaving yourself. You have no idea what I am capable of."

Part of me is more than willing to find out when he throws me down on the floor and tears away the undershirt faster than I can say any witty remark that doesn't come to me anyway, I am preoccupied. Do I find this arousing? Oh please, that has to be the new feral side of me because… Who am I kidding. I've slept with guys that were into weird stuff. Ones that liked it rough. I suspect they'll look like kids playing compared to Victor.

He is just hovering over me and I have no idea if I should encourage him or not. I mean really, what would you do in my situation? His breath is on my skin again and it drives me nuts, he is less than an inch away. I can hear him breathe, slightly faster than usual and then there is exhibit a, I can feel it throbbing through his pants against the inside of my thigh. And then there is it again, the sound of the hair on his face moving when he grins.

"Nah pet, I'm still not fucking my dog."

And up he gets and walks up the stairs. I guess I really had no idea what he is capable of. The air around me smells like some horndog went nuts, unfortunately that horndog is me. Barely there is the scent of his own arousal. I guess it's on now. Oh how on it is, he has no fucking idea!


	12. Chapter 12

**Again with the lateness. I apologize. And instead of thanking all of those beyond awesome people that reviewed (you know who you are *throws gang signs *) I'd like to call for a moment of silence for Victor and Logan who passed away yesterday. You read that right. I found my bunnies dead outside yesterday. To say it was a coincidence that two plastic bags made their way through mesh woven so tight it was absolutely impossible for any animal to get out or in, and managed to land over two bunny heads… Well. I am in full Hulk smash mode, Victor would be proud if he was here right now. I doubt he'd help me kill bunny killers, but maybe he would just for the sake of killing. And one of them was named after him after all. Not because he was a bit taller and had shorter hair than Logan and definitely not because he kept teasing Logan or refused to let anyone near him (but me. Of course. I have a degree in Feralogy.). Noo. Logan now got his name because he had mutton chops, a very interesting hairdo, was absolutely grumpy and liked to jump the females. Yep. That was them. Now let's put that violin away and update already. It's still Monday in some parts of the world!**

**Do not own Victor but one day I just might. Don't sue, don't own, don't make money, am still broke.**

**Warning. Chapter contains semi-consensual sex. Be warningly warned. (I know that you are now hurrying on to the story you perverts.)**

I pick myself up from the floor and walk up the stairs. I don't even bother with the remains of the undershirt, there is no way in hell anyone could piece that back together, unless you are one of those people that like stuff with lots of glitter and tattoo motives, there is a stereotype I will not touch right now.

Upstairs he is nowhere to be seen. Cocking my head I try to listen for any sign of him and there it is. He's upstairs, in his bedroom I guess. Assholes have bedrooms, too. He is moving around and I hear… It's a laptop I think. He's fiddling around with it so he's probably busy scheming or wants to log on to Creepbook or whatever it is that crazy ferals do in their spare time. Don't ask me, I'm the noob here. There is another undershirt on the backrest of a chair and I pull it over my head. I might as well get used to wearing clothes again.

My eyes fall on the huge sliding door that leads to the backyard. Haven't noticed it before, I was busy bleeding, eating or whatever else there was, that is a fairly decent sized yard. Also equipped with a high fence, neighbours could see the naked chick with the collar being beaten around. I carefully walk over and try the handle. It doesn't even creak, that is wonderful. So I push open the door and hurry outside as quickly as I can.

My feet touch the grass and that is when I notice two things.

My senses are fully there. And Victor has had something done to the house to soundproof it. Kids are screaming, dogs are barking, I can hear all sorts of animals, engines, appliances, people. There is somebody somewhere talking on the phone and that woman has the shrillest laugh. At the same time scents bombard me. Animals, people, food, garbage cans, the sewers… I might be sick any second. Sensory overload doesn't begin to describe this. It's like someone cranking up the volume of a radio very high before looking for a station, that annoying white noise… Add a gang of screaming kids to that and you have a faint idea of the pain my ears are in right now. Somehow I fell to the floor and I am curling up, trying to cover my ears with my hands. This is terrible! I bury my nose in the grass, I don't give a fuck about inhaling ants, the grass and the soil are balm to my nose and do a lot to weaken the other scents trying to invade my consciousness.

The ground is somehow vibrating, at least my mind tries to tell me that it is-I think it really is, faintly. I mostly just hear footsteps through all the other sounds. Can all this stop already? Did I just whimper? There's the lifting up again, claws dig into my sides. I can smell someone in the vicinity having sex, somebody has just opened a bag of chips, let's hope it isn't the same people, then again, why not combine two fun things even if you get crumbs stuck in places you don't want em? I bury my face in Victor's shirt, that scent is for once way better than all that goes on out here. I try to focus on his heartbeat, how can it be so slow? He must be angry with me, after all I tried to run. He's probably so used to anger that it is his natural state and does nothing to his heartbeat. I can't smell anger on him though. Not much. I guess. I need to attend Scents 101 soon. Right after the world stops being so awfully loud and smelly.

Victor finds himself facing a hazy memory of him carrying Jimmy after his mutation suddenly fully kicked in, he had been about fourteen back then. And they had been in the woods near a small village, back then there weren't as many people around and of course not all those machines. He had learned to drown them out, the fact that he had been around before them and gradually got used to them worked in his favor. There was not a grain of Victor Creed that was capable of compassion or pity, but there was little anger at her attempted escape. She would be stupid if she hadn't seized the moment, and he had been in his room watching her with great amusement. After all he knew what it was like for him to leave this carefully prepared house and being pummelled with all the sensations-she had been inside ever since the effects of the drugs had worn off.

"Make some lunch, pet."

"What? We just had breakfast."

"I didn't ask for your opinion, go cook."

_The intense scents of the food would help her get rid off everything that had piled up in those short moments she had been outside and he had to come up with something to slowly get her used to it. The idea of making her his personal little project was very appealing, and the first step towards that would be to release Rick; he would run straight to her father with the news that Victor Creed held his daughter captive. There was little to no information on the drugs they had fed her, it was an underground test thing and even with his connections it had been hard to gather any information. It was available to few and apparently Ari had it tested on himself and on his daughter first, it seemed that had been his main goal all along. To make it seem like he and his daughter were human. _

_There were few things that Victor found repulsive, and this was one of them._

_Obviously the effect had been wearing off ever since he kidnapped her and it was also rather obvious that her mutation was similar to her mother, a canine, rather than feline like her father, though curiously enough there were a few feline traits to her, too much for a canine. She lacked the agility of a feline and was obviously not very strong, though that might change now that her diet had improved. Her senses seemed to be sharper than his and he was curious to see if there were other things lying dormant. Her hair had gotten noticeably darker now, as had her eyes-for a while, when she still looked more like her father, he had been willing to bet that she would turn out to be a feline like him._

_She was busy preparing steak and some vegetables she had found in the freezer, it was all simmering on the stove and she bent down to pick up something off the floor. The hem of his undershirt rose just enough to give him a teasing glimpse at her exposed folds and he growled. Her earlier display of savage rage was still very vivid in his head and he had found it strangely arousing. She got back up and glancds his way with a wicked grin. Of course she could smell it on him, and she did this deliberately. Maybe it was time he really showed her who was boss._

I can't help but feel smug. His scent shifted, and how it did! He does smell intense when he gets horny, that sick old…

There's a sudden rush of movement and I find myself pressed against the kitchen cabinet, face down on the countertop and his hand on my neck. A strange feeling spreads throughout my body, as if I should roll over or something, that has to be my newfound animalistic side wanting to give in to his display of dominance. In his dreams.

And, even though I wouldn't want to say that out loud, in a few of mine, too.

"So I was right, you only get off when you get to be violent. I'd rather fuck Pete, who you so carelessly killed."

He growls and his claws now really dig into my skin just as he grinds into my ass. There is a little, perverted part of me that is doing a happy dance at what I'm feeling back there. But no sane woman would want to get down and dirty with Mr. Whiskers. I mean, dirty here equals bloody, that is for sure. There is a certain quote by Marquis de Sade that comes to mind but I refuse…

"It is always by way of pain one arrives at pleasure."

Oh, fuck him. Why is he suddenly one who reads books? And why is he close to my ear again? This number is getting old. His free hand cups my ass and again I feel claws pierce my skin.

"You just made a mistake, Mr. Creed."

"And what would that be, pet?"

He sounds like he is having a lot of fun right now.

"You gave off the impression that you like to read. One could assume you had a brain."

He doesn't respond, at least not with words. My ass gets cold, I hear alarming sounds and moments later I get confirmation for what I suspected, feared, when he plunges into me without warning. Biting back a scream I hold completely still. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of howling in pain, he'll just like it. And it doesn't hurt that much, I was just surprised, that's all. Unfortunately my asshole of a body was more than ready for this. It responds to his presence far more than I would like it to. Not a constant state but almost there. Ever since I have come to terms with the fact that I am a mutant I have noticed that I am almost constantly ready to jump his bones when he's around. It's like a pot on a stove set on a very low simmer. Very annoying.

And while I am busy ranting away in my head he keeps pounding into me and I just refuse to acknowledge the fact that I am pushing back, eagerly awaiting his thrusts. Once again I am merely a spectator, withdrawn inside my head. Another part of me seems to really enjoy this because I suspect that panting sound is coming from my mouth. So is that moan. I sound terrible, not like me at all. Victor climaxes with a roar and lets go of me instantly, withdrawing himself and pulling his pants back up.

"Congrats, that was the worst fuck of my life."

He grabs my neck again and spins me around, now he does look pissed.

"Will you ever learn to shut your fucking mouth."

It is not a real question but it does call for a response.

"No."

**Weird, huh. They're animals after all, somehow. And please do not think Victor enjoyed this in any way, it was purely to assert his dominance and insist on the alpha status in this not quite pack. Men, I know. One might stop and think about the animal kingdom. Usually it is the females that lead… Just a thought for you to ponder until next week.**

**Before I forget. I am looking for a beta for another story I might or might not publish in the (not too) distant future. Victor, Team X, not-really-romance-but-you-know-how-Victor-gets? Anyone? PM me.  
**


	13. Chapter 13

**8 Reviews? You guys rock. Hard. And all. Welcome to those of you who recently joined the circle of insanity, make sure to wear a seatbelt and I'd like to offer you a feral with hot chocolate. Speaking of, did Mr. Creed and his chocolate syrup arrive yet, LothirielSaerwen? If not… Well, I have to say the German postal service is about as quick as it can get. Measured by standards of early America. With ponies and all.**

**A few quick things. Thank you to those expressing their feral rage concerning the bunny issue. The guys that did it have been caught. They filmed themselves -.- A crowbar is drying as we speak, my accomplice could attest to the fact that this woman likes to hit people with style, so there has to be at least some purple glitter.**

In regards to Lillith's senses… I feel like a word is needed. They have been coming on and off ever since our dear Mr. Creed has so skilfully surprise adopted her (kidnapping is such a harsh word) and as she has suspected, Victor has had stuff done to the house. I figured that even he would need a place to somewhat relax. I seem to be the only one thinking that senses like that in today's world can be extremely draining sometimes.

**Yes. On with the show. This is officially my last chapter from the stash and I am praying that my muse will be obedient for once and be there for me in this time of need. I just might get stuck on youtube again. Looking for "inspiration", you know. Damn you, internet!**

**If I owned Victor Creed I wouldn't have the time to write this. If I owned Marvel, this would be turned into a movie and X1 wouldn't have happened. As well as… wait, there wasn't a third movie. So, I am just a poor, deranged woman who sits at home all day and fantasizes about this kind of stuff. Kind of weird if you put it that way, no.**

**Language, sexual content, ferals.**

With a growl he lifts me up by my throat and throws me on the floor. Now while that hurts, a lot actually, I can't help but think that he would make such a good wrestler. I'm sure we could come up with a witty name and though I'm not the world's most talented seamstress I could whip up a snazzy costume… He is on top of me within about a fragment of a second, before I can react at all, train of thought be damned. And his teeth close over my throat? How… animalistic of him, what is he trying to do?

That question is just being answered by the new animal in me. It wants to wave a white flag and acknowledge the fact that he is boss. Oh come on, we can't be serious about this right? I will not call him boss as long as this sane part of me exist. We also need to team up to fight down that part of us that is currently grinding her hips against him because we do like neck biting in a completely different context. That's it, I have a split personality. Very good explanation. Let's stick with that for now. His teeth cut through my skin and my back arches, at the same time I snarl at him and my hands are trying to find some spot to hurt him. If my claws weren't so short and blunt I could hurt him more, now I'm barely scratching him and I lift one to scratch across his cheek. It heals right over, awesome. So he heals better than me, too. Is there anything I can do that he can't? And can he let go already? My skin feels awfully tight around his teeth god damn it.

Finally he lets go and, blood still on his fangs, grins down on me.

"That should help you to remember your place."

He looks down on my throat and frowns but that only lasts for a moment, then he is off and gone. Carefully picking myself up off the floor I try to remember what I was doing. Food. There was food. My fingers carefully brush over the spot where he just bit me, right under the larynx-on it there's the collar, don't know if that's why he picked that spot… Shouldn't this be healed already? My fingers prod a little more, this feels like an old injury… Like scars. What the fuck did he do now?

When he comes back a little while later, all dressed up in black, trenchcoat and all, probably from the creep mail order catalogue…I somehow doubt he will answer my question. Barely glancing at the plates I set out he points upstairs.

"Up, pet, to your room. I need to release your friend into the wild and I don't intend to pick you up outside again when I come back."

As much as I don't want to admit it, but outside is evil.

"I'm not going out there again, don't worry."

"Well, now I'm relieved. What is this strange feeling I got suddenly, could that be trust? Get off your ass and get upstairs before I rip your throat out!" He snarls. But that is not impressive, I can snarl too. Bare my teeth and all. See. But I obediently trudge upstairs, a plate with food I just made was graciously handed to me, and lie down on my bed. There are a few things I have to discuss with myself anyway. Like how the hell did all that happen? How can a part of me want to submit to him while the rest of me would rather watch a ten hour special on cardboard? Also need a word with my body. It can't respond to him that way, I simply won't have that. Almost as if my body likes what he does. Come on! He's not that hot, right? Right?

Oh damn it.

Victor locks the door and I sigh. Of course he would but really, suddenly this house doesn't look too bad. Not going outside for half an eternity sounds really good. I close my eyes and drift off, just a little.

When I wake up again I hear sounds. Weird sounds. And there is blood in the air, I can smell it. It's not mine, it's not his. Then I hear a scream that makes me sick to my stomach. All right, now I know what's up. Victor brought someone home. How can I feel so… indifferent? I know what will most likely happen to that girl. I didn't even need the visual of that one open cell door with the scattered brains and all to figure that out. During those past… weeks it is by now I guess, I have seen enough of Victor, I know enough about him to know what makes him tick. And then there's that little bitch inside me that sympathizes with him.

There's also that little, microscopic part that doesn't like the thought of another female in the vicinity. Not in the vicinity of him but you know, in the house. I live here. This has nothing to do with him and touching her and all. Come on, he hurts her, she is probably dead by now, I'm not jealous. Psh.

A little later, I haven't heard much since that scream, he's coming upstairs. He took a shower in the basement, I can still smell her blood on him. And death. He killed her, doesn't surprise me much. Other things I refuse to even think about, though he doesn't smell like it, and I am not relieved, no… There's my door opening now.

"Get dressed, pet. We're leaving."

What the hell?

"I'm not leaving this house, no thank you."

A low, warning growl. How nice of him.

"Five minutes."

"Nope. You'll have to kill me. Doesn't matter much, you already killed that girl, I'll try and not add too much to the mess."

Now he grins at me that filthy old bastard.

"Jealous, pet?"

"You wish. I can't get dressed anyway. Kinda hard without clothes."

He throws a bundle at my head and I catch it before my beloved Dr. Martens can hit my head. Normally I wouldn't mind it so much, but on the night he caught me I wore the ones with steeltoes. It kinda hurts if you get hit with them. With a sigh I take a few moments to mourn all those lovely shoes waiting for me at home. I bet they miss their mommy. Anyway. How nice of him to keep my clothes. Quick nose check, he didn't do anything nasty with them. But the cashmere sweater is completely ruined, stained with dirt and blood and so are the jeans. They have huge holes in them. There is also no underwear, he probably cut through those. Any regular man can't handle a bra clasp, now imagine mister temper tantrum and his claws.

"Hey, I can't wear those clothes. They're wrecked."

I hear him grumble in his room and he walks back in to check. After a few moments of looking and eyebrow raising he stalks back out. Rummaging in his room, I hope he doesn't bring some other girl's clothes now, and he comes back with my leather jacket and a pair of green army style pants. Now don't get me wrong, I am not exactly tiny but those seem to be his. And he is fucking huge. Paired off with his undershirt I'm going to look like straight from a bad 90s music video. Early nineties. Kriss Kross.

In the end I have to roll up the legs about a quarter of their original length and pry my belt out of my jeans. The large skull belt buckle looks kind of ridiculous with that outfit, at least I got my leather jacket though. I would have been really sad if he'd thrown that away, it was a gift from this guy… I don't even know his name. Sorry, I was on drugs. He looked good though. Boy, I'm a slut.

"Do I have to come and get you?"

"Yes PLEASE Mistah Victor."

I stroll downstairs where he is leaning against the kitchen wall. He snorts when he sees me but turns around and heads towards a door in the hallway that definitely isn't the front door, but who am I to question this. It stinks and moments later I realize that it's gasoline. Of course. Smart guy like him has a garage attached to the house so nosy neighbors can't see him dragging his victims inside. He does think of everything, I have to give him credit for that. Of course that does nothing to the score, really. It is so far down below zero due to him kidnapping me and all the other things he has done so far.

"Where are we going?"

"To the garage."

He isn't the kind of person who'd use "DUH" on anyone, but he looks like he is tempted to do it. Either that or gut me, hard to say. After some fiddling with a hidden keypad-how does he do it? His claws should get stuck between the keys!-the door slides open and we're in a double garage, home to exactly one very nondescript van. Dodge Caravan, some dark blueish color, everybody has one, really. His blending in scheme is completely wrecked as soon as he gets out of the car but hey. I notice that he is putting on gloves and eyes my hands. My claws are short compared to his and I am a girl, I can get away with people thinking I have long nails, at least from a distance.

"Now what, do I get in the trunk? Backseat?"

He probably won't let me sit behind him but I have to ask. And he will have to knock me out before I get in the trunk, I guess that's how I got here and how everyone else has ended up here. No, thank you.

"Just get in there and shut your fucking mouth already."

I open the door to the passenger side and am overwhelmed by the stink of fear, blood and terror that is wafting from the back and I wince. How can he stand this?

"How can you drive around in that thing? It stinks!"

The way he looks at me makes me believe that to him, it doesn't smell so bad. So either he's gotten used to it or my nose is way more sensitive than his. But I shut the door, buckle up and bury my nose in my leather jacket as deep as I can while Victor starts the car and backs out of the garage. I haven't even seen a remote but I very much doubt he's telekinetic too, the door closes behind us.

This is suburbia, picture book. A few people walk their dogs, women fuss around driveways, kids play. It's sickening, really. And some look up and wave, Victor waves back and I try my best to not laugh out loud. I'm so glad as we leave the area, the town, and are on the highway. The radio looks awfully tempting but I really don't feel like having my hand chewed off right now. I can smell a cattle farm that I can't even see and people that might have been around a few hours ago and I really, really don't want to go through all of this anymore.

"Stop thinking about every single scent pet. Don't want your brain to implode."

"Well, at least I have one." I growl and reach for the radio. To my surprise he doesn't object and as I turn it on it automatically switches to CD. Who knew that the hairy monster has such things. Maybe he likes Lady Gaga, or is he a little Miley fan? Maybe that's why he's so secretive, maybe his entire room is decked out with Hannah Montana merch. Oh god I'll have to puke if I suppress more laughter. He still smells angry, but it's mixed with… Shit I really need to figure those scents out.

The sound of an acoustic guitar is wafting through the van and I gawk at him.

"No shit. Big bad guy likes Led Zeppelin?"

"Maybe I should tie you to a picnic bench at the nearest rest stop and just leave you."

"What. I'm just interested in the person behind the asshole that's been holding me captive."

This song is so ridiculous in this situation, really. After all, "Over the Hills and Far Away" is about love and all. I cackle and draw my knees up, feet resting on the seat. Once the song speeds up it's a nice song for driving though. I bob my head and just look outside, I have no fucking idea where we are or where we are going, but it does look kind of cold out there. What month is it anyway? October, November? Something along that line, end of October, depends on how long I've been in the basement.

The next song has me in tears. Ted Nugent. I fucking love Ted Nugent. But… "My Baby Loves My Butter On Her Grits" is a little too much for me in this situation. Victor tries to look like the pissed off individual he usually is but I saw his lips twitch. They did, I didn't imagine this. So this is the stuff he listens to while he's stalking people and killing them? Somehow that makes him more human than I'd like him to be. He can't like music, books or watch movies. He can't, I don't allow him to.

AC DC are taking over and I stare out the window again. Please no more songs like that. Kicked In The Teeth is alright, it is what I want to do to him anyway. But I don't want this to shift any further. He fucked me and now he has a decent taste in music. Great, what next?

We stop about three hours later at a small motel. At some point Victor got out and switched the license plates, that guy is a redneck version of James Bond or something. Although Victor hasn't obtained the license to not kill yet I assume. I'm just the exception to the rule and I will die too, soon. Anyway. Motel. Not too shabby, actually, looks clean. They have an outdoor pool, it's drained and in the puddle are a few leaves and a condom floating around. I can't see it from over here, but I smell the latex. Is it too late to beg for my own room?

Victor throws some cash on the counter and the fat elderly lady perks up instantly. Do we want the honeymoon suite oh fuck no. Victor grins and books it. Great. The woman has hair that looks like a helmet, thinks flamingos are a splendid decoration and listens to Elvis. I am very, very afraid of what awaits us.

I watch him sign us in as Mr. And Mrs. Creed. He could have made more effort with that phoney name. But that's just the opinion of the bitch with the collar. The one nobody bothers to tell what we're doing here anyway.

Instead of to the car he walks straight across the lot and behind the building, which is just on the edge of the woods.

"Uh, Victor…"

"Shut up and hurry pet."

Alright then. My stomach growls and whatever he wants to do back there better not be physically demanding. My thoughts stray back to the incident in the kitchen and I shudder.

"Not now pet, but I appreciate the thought. I might get back to you on that, later."

"What now?"

He looks at me and grins.

"We hunt, pet."


End file.
